MirrorVerse
by ack1308
Summary: This is Worm as you have never seen it. The characters and events appearing in this story are darkly twisted reflections of themselves; heroes are villains and villains, heroes. It will make you look at hated villains in a whole new way.
1. Chapter 1

_This is a mirror-image version of Worm, inspired by a story called **Reflecting** on Spacebattles by Trump-12._

_In it, heroes are villains and vice versa. The greatest villains are the Horsemen; Death, Famine and Conquest. Death is a near-invulnerable woman who lost an eye to the hero Monochrome years ago; Famine uses lasers with strange effects to destroy crops and foodstuffs. Conquest is a near-unbeatable Trump who can call on any power. War, the fourth member, was killed by Monochrome in the same battle that cost Death an eye._

_Opposing them are the Lifegivers: Thunderhead, Hydro (sometimes called Suijin) and Angel._

_Lower on the scale are Nonagon, a roving band of heroes and ex-villains; Razor Jack, Monochrome, Medic, Crag and several others._

_Taylor Hebert appears in this story, but she is not the hero._

_Now, read on ..._

* * *

**Adventures in the MirrorVerse**

* * *

Part 1: Nonagon

* * *

Hovering above the battlefield, Death gave an inarticulate scream of rage. The flowing midnight draperies of her costume were in rags, the deaths-head face paint smudged and smeared, but she didn't care. She hefted the fuel tanker over her head, selected her target, and heaved. The star-shaped scar around her left eye, remnant of the first and last time she had tested her strength against Monochrome, seemed to glow as brightly as the crimson orb within its socket.

Down below, Razor glanced up, even as he laughed and danced aside from an attack by Shock. The slim young woman growled in frustration as one lighting-fast blow after another slid past the cheerfully taunting hero, almost as if she were telegraphing her attacks. She paused to gather her strength while Awe, a former hero who had turned villain to be at her side, took up the attack.

The blood-red lines on her daringly cut midnight-black costume began to glow brighter and brighter. Then she glanced up. Her face turned white under the mask.

"Death, you fucking maniac!" she screamed. _"Awe!"_

Her lover was at her side in a moment, staring up at the tumbling, falling fuel tanker. They had just a couple of seconds before it hit. Hoping that her power had recharged enough, Shock grabbed Awe and bolted out of there.

Razor looked up at the tanker; there was no way he could evade the blast radius in time, so he didn't try. Instead, he rocked back on his heels, humming a little tune as he folded his straight razor and put it away.

In the last instant before it struck, a black-and-white blur cut across the battlefield, bare feet carving through treacherous rubble as if it didn't even exist.

The tanker landed. Metal ruptured, fuel spilled, sparks flew. Ignition was a matter of seconds. A cloud of dark oily smoke climbed above the inferno below, while the concussion wave rolled across the battlefield.

On a nearby rise, Medic looked up from the man whose life she was saving. Her hands continued their careful work, stitching and sealing away organs, as she gasped in horror.

"Crag! Is Jack all right?"

The immense man standing alongside her, fully ten feet tall and so broad that he still looked short, patted her carefully on one shoulder. His skin was dark and pitted; he had survived virtually everything that a man could be subjected to, but it had taken its toll on him. Now he was an avowed pacifist, offering harm to none that did not threaten him or his friends.

"Aye, lass, he will be," he told her in a warm Scottish burr that resonated in his deep chest. "Mister Jack is canny, he is indeed. And Mistress Monochrome will be at his side, I'll wager."

Without even looking, she closed her patient's chest cavity and began to put the final stitches in.

"I hope so," she replied. "He took me in, you know, after my parents died. I don't know what I'd do without him."

She felt the comforting touch of his broad hand on her shoulder once more. "Aye, lass," he agreed quietly. "None of us would, and that's a fact."

The glittering form of Crystal Angel, silicate wings spread wide, swooped low over the still-fierce blaze. Then, as the forms of Razor and Monochrome, walking hand in hand like newlyweds, left the fire, she soared high into the air.

* * *

An hour later, they were convened in the ruined building they were using as a base; Razor, Monochrome, Medic, Crag and Crystal Angel. Joining the core members of Nonagon were the reformed villain Deathtrap, now calling himself Sanctuary; the pyro-controlling Firedancer; the lovely Autumn; and the stolid power-neutralising Equaliser.

"Good to see we all survived," Razor began brightly. "It seems that we have nine lives."

There was a pause as everyone assimilated the pun, then groans arose from around the makeshift meeting table. Even Monochrome, characteristically silent as she was, put a hand over her eyes.

"Jack, that was _awful,"_ complained Medic.

"Aye, 'twas truly painful," Crag rumbled. "I'm of half a mind to tear your arms off and beat ye about the heid with them."

"Do it," urged Medic. "I promise to sew them back on again. Eventually."

Laughing, Razor held up his hands in surrender. "Okay, that was bad, I admit it. Crag, I thought you only used violence to answer against violence?"

"And what do ye think yon jest was, ye great daft pillock?" retorted Crag, grinning broadly. "'Twas GBH of the earholes, so it was."

Razor shook his head, grinning equally broadly. "So," he asked, "Did anyone get an idea of what the Horsemen wanted?"

"I may have an idea," intruded a new voice. People moved aside to allow the wheelchair-bound man through to the table.

Razor's demeanour became more subdued, more respectful. "Doctor Manton," he greeted the newcomer. "Did you see much of the fight?"

"Only a little, I'm afraid," responded the bearded man in the wheelchair. "But I think I know what they were after. This may have been a diversionary attack. They might be trying to uncover the secrets to Process Foxtrot Sixteen-Eleven."

All eyes turned to Monochrome; the young woman ducked her head modestly.

"As you all know," began Manton, with the attitude of someone poking an open wound to see exactly how much it was going to hurt, "I pioneered the process on my own daughter. I'm not proud of myself for that; I was not a good man, then."

Monochrome moved from Jack's side to kneel before the man in the wheelchair; she took his hands in hers. She did not speak, for she could not; the process that had made her invulnerable and unaging, that had rendered her free of the need for such things as food, water and even air, had also frozen her vocal cords forever.

Death, the vicious and unpredictable leader of the Horsemen, had been through a derivative process; while this had given her the ability to fly, it had also left her without the true invulnerability enjoyed by Monochrome.

"So what do the Horsemen want it for?" asked Medic, although she feared she knew the answer.

William Manton stroked his daughter's hair. His voice was sombre. "Why, to use on themselves, of course."

* * *

End of Part 1


	2. Chapter 2

**Adventures in the Mirrorverse**

* * *

Part 2: Winslow

* * *

I eyed the clock again, disfavourably. I didn't need this shit, didn't need to be sitting in class while the seconds crawled down to lunchtime. And I didn't need this class, with that in-your-face do-gooder Mister Stick-Up-The-Ass Gladly. In my opinion, he spent far too much time watching what we were doing. I couldn't get away with _anything_ in that goddamn class.

I'd tried calling him 'Mr G' once, and he'd cut me off at the knees. _Me_.

"Ms Hebert," he'd lectured me in that goddamn aggravating gentle-but-firm tone he used for talking with 'trouble' students, "if you want to earn respect in life, you must learn to give respect. And we start by addressing one another in a respectful manner. If I were to address our good Principal Blackwell as 'yo, beeyatch!', that would be a sign that I did not respect her."

He had paused to allow the laughter to die down, a light smile on his lips. I wanted to wipe it off his face. He was making the class laugh while talking to me. That was almost as bad as them actually laughing at me.

"And so," he had concluded, "it is only proper and respectful for you to refer to me as 'Mr Gladly', and to the other teachers and staff by their full surnames, using an appropriate honorific. Do you understand?"

"Yeah, I understand," I had replied grudgingly. He had raised one eyebrow slightly, and I had hastily added, "Mr Gladly."

This wasn't me surrendering or him winning or any shit like that, you understand. When Mr Gladly - shit, he had me doing it now - when _the G-bitch_ explained something like this, and the student pretended not to understand, that student got to write lines. I was sick and tired of writing lines. Especially since he made me do them all in pencil, after the one time he caught me photocopying a finished sheet.

* * *

So yeah, I was sick of the class, I was sick of the teacher, I was sick of the school, I was sick of Brockton Fucking Bay. I was destined for bigger things.

And yet, there I was, stuck in class with all of the know-nothing _sheep_le. The universe owed me. And I was going to collect. Looking around the class, I selected my target, just as the bell rang.

Madison hurried up the steps ahead of me. She obviously didn't realise I was there, which was her bad luck. After all, it wasn't like I hadn't done this before.

I did see her stop and look back for just a moment, but I was a flight below her, and she didn't look down over the rail. _Gotta be smarter than that, Mads._

I watched my lunch money disappear into the third floor girls' bathrooms, then followed her in. By the time I got in there, she was in a stall; I leaned against the sinks and waited, arms crossed. Several girls entered, glanced at me then looked away.

* * *

That was the way it should be; Winslow might be a squeaky-clean school, heavy on rules enforcement, but Dad controlled the Dockworkers' Collective with an iron hand, and had a hand in several others. If he said someone didn't work, that someone didn't work. And so, in my first month or so at Winslow, I had made a point of finding out whose parents were members of which union or collective. Then I had made it clear to them that if they crossed me, their dads didn't work.

Some had disbelieved me; I had spoken to Dad, and a few guys got laid off, or transferred to ass-end jobs. Fathers of people at Winslow. After that, no-one crossed me.

Except Emma.

Emma was my big disappointment in life. We'd been best friends since grade school; her dad was an industrial relations lawyer, and he'd collaborated with Dad on a few matters that had made them more than a bit of money. Which was why I was attending Winslow, and not some shithole like Arcadia.

But Emma was here too. Sometime in the summer break between middle school and junior high, she'd gone all soft, grown a conscience. She was the one who spoiled my fun, way too many times. I couldn't frighten her with my Dad, and I couldn't have her beaten up; anyone who tried that got their asses royally kicked by Sophia Hess.

Sophia was the other thorn in my side. Emma had obviously met her over summer break, and a more sickeningly nice person you could never hope to push down an elevator shaft. She had a good word for everyone, but she wasn't a pushover like you'd think. Apparently she took the idea of 'turn the other cheek' not all that seriously, and was quite good at looking after herself. I'd never tried conclusions with her, and I didn't like my chances if I did. It was really irritating; if only there'd been some white-supremacist gang in town, I could've gotten Dad to sic them on her. But there wasn't, so meh.

* * *

The other girls finished up and got out, fast. When Madison opened the stall door, there was just me and her in the bathrooms, just the way I wanted it. I stepped forward, pushing her back into the stall.

"Madison, hi," I greeted her, a wide smile on my face. "Just the person I was looking for. I forgot my lunch money, so I'm gonna need to borrow yours."

"Taylor," she ventured. "Look, I don't have any lunch money, I brought my own lunch today, see?"

She opened her bag, and I did see the lunch in there. It looked like a nice one; a pita wrap, juice, a banana.

"No, no, no, no, no," I admonished her, shaking her by the shoulders like a rag doll. "That's not the way it works. The way it works is, you bring money in and give it to me, so I can buy something for me. I don't want your lunch. And apparently nor do you."

In front of her eyes, I pulled out the pita wrap and opened it, spilling the contents into the toilet bowl. The pita bread I tore up and dropped in there as well. Next, I got her juice out, opened it up, and took a good long drink. Then I poured the rest of it over her head. It got in her hair, over her top, and even on her skirt. Finally, I got out the banana.

She was crying by now; have I mentioned how much I hate crybabies and wimps? No time at all for them.

* * *

I was just about to start peeling the banana – I was going to smear it all over her face and hair – when I heard a most unwelcome voice.

"That's enough, Taylor. Let her go."

I looked around. Emma stood there, leaning on one side of the stall door way. Sophia leaned on the other side.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Emma. Can't you just mind your own fucking business for once?"

She ignored me, looking past me to Madison.

"Come on out, Mads," she urged the petite girl. "She won't stop you."

Madison ducked out past me, giving me one last frightened glance on the way past.

"Come on," Emma told her. "Let's go get you cleaned up. I'll buy you lunch."

"You won't be able to hide behind them forever, Clements," I called out. "I'll get back to you."

Sophia gave me a flat stare. "Why don't you just shut your mouth, Taylor," she advised.

"Fuck you, Hess," I replied venomously. "None of your goddamn business."

She gave me a steady stare, then glanced behind her. "You're gonna stay in here for the next few minutes," she stated. "Come out before then, I'll be waiting."

* * *

I waited. There wasn't much else I could do. In the meantime, I ate Madison's banana. What the hell; it was a free banana.

And I got mad. Emma and Sophia had barged in on my god-given right to extract satisfaction from Madison for my missing lunch money. What right did they have? Fucking seriously?

I ranted and raved; I may have sworn a bit. I know I kicked my bag across the bathroom floor.

The worst bit was, I could have stopped them from taking her away. But I couldn't do that. I couldn't show them what I could do. I needed to keep the secret just a little longer.

As I raged, the bugs emerged from every nook and cranny. They covered the walls, the ceiling, the floor. Highly venomous insects alighted on my arms, covered my face, until just my eyes were visible.

My anger turned to laughter, echoing harshly from the white tiles. I would show them. I would show them all.

The Hive Queen would _rule_.

* * *

End of Part 2


	3. Chapter 3

**Adventures in the MirrorVerse**

* * *

Part 3: Conflict of Interest

* * *

"The trouble with being a superhero in Brockton Bay," Marionette told them in a lecturing tone, "is that we don't cooperate."

"Sure we cooperate," Tenebrae objected. "We cooperate all the time. Don't we, Rach?"

The redhead nodded as she scooped a slice of pizza out of the box. "Yup," she agreed. She scratched behind the ear of the dog sitting at her feet. "Cooperation. That's us all over."

"No, I get what Alec's saying," Insight told them seriously, looking up from the computer screen. "We don't cooperate with other superheroes. And that lets the villains walk all over us."

"Exactly," Marionette agreed. "When was the last time anyone made any headway against the Syndicate?"

* * *

There was silence, broken by the sound of four teens eating pizza, as they considered this. The Protection Syndicate was the largest and most pervasive criminal organisation in the United States. It had offshoots in every major city, and many minor ones. It even extended into Canada, where it had formed ties with the Guildsmen, a supervillain group. There were rumours that they were looking to extend into Mexico, but that the cartels were resisting the idea.

The Syndicate, a shadowy group, was backed up by an even more elusive organisation, the Parahuman Retribution Tribunal. Anyone causing real trouble for the Syndicate was wont to get a visit from the PRT, and that was bad news for anyone.

* * *

Insight's phone rang; she answered it. "Hello?"

_"I have disturbing news,"_ came the familiar voice of their patron. _"It appears that Lung is making a move against you. He intends to bring you in for questioning."_

"Oh, for _crap's_ sake!" Insight muttered. "You know, we were talking about this exact thing. We're superheroes, Lung's a superhero. But just because he's got the Asian Benevolent Boyz backing him, he's all about following every single rule, every single law, down to the last crossed t and dotted i. Hell, he's even gone against the Lifegivers because they don't follow the letter of the law."

_"Perhaps this is a conversation for another time,"_ he gently chided her. _"We need to determine your strategy."_

"So you tell me," she responded. "What's the best thing to do?"

_"Too soon to tell,"_ he told her apologetically. _"Sit tight. I'll get back to you when I get a better read on the situation."_

"Fine. You know where to find us." She hung up. The others were staring at her.

"Who was that?" asked Marionette.

Insight sighed. "The boss. You know he likes to keep his privacy."

"Okay, we got it," Marionette agreed. "But what was that about Lung?"

Insight grimaced. "He's coming after us."

"Oh, shit, really?" Tenebrae looked at the rest of the group. "Then why are we still here?"

Rachel put her hand on his arm. "Hey, calm down. Alec and Lisa will work out a plan. They always do."

* * *

Four hours later, they were no closer to a coherent strategy. Brian wanted to run for it and lie low, Alec advocated a frontal attack on the opposition, Rachel was in favour of cautious probing attacks, and Lisa was trying to figure out which of the three plans had the best chance of success. All she was getting out of it was a headache.

"Hey, hey, hey," Alec told her soothingly, kneading her sore shoulders, "don't be so hard on yourself. You can't know everything."

"But I should be able to figure this out," Lisa told him.

"You should lighten up," Brian told her, picking up a controller and starting a single-player shooter. "Maybe it'll be nothing."

"Yeah," Rachel told her. "When was the last time you smiled?"

Lisa shook her head. "When you know as much as I do, it's no smiling matter."

Her phone rang again. She snatched it up. "Hello?"

Trying not to be distracted by Rachel making her dog dance on its back legs for a treat, she listened to the voice of their employer. When he finished, she acknowledged his information, and hung up.

"So, boss-lady, what's the dealio?" asked Brian, pausing the game.

Lisa's lips tightened in what might have been mistaken for a smile by someone who didn't know her. "We're going on the offensive."

* * *

"Look," blustered the ABB man. "It's simple. You guys are loose cannons. Lung just wanted to bring you in, make you understand that unless we're all on the same page, you're better off behind bars."

"I _told_ you," K-9 protested. "I'm _said_ I was sorry about what my dogs did to that street vendor's cart. And that shop window. And that taxi."

Tenebrae leaned across to Marionette. "And that crosstown bus. And that poodle." He snickered.

Alec shook his head. "Dude. Be serious."

"I _am_ serious. Seriously awesome. I mean, look at me. Darkness on command. How cool is that?"

Marionette shook his head. "Sometimes I think you're a lost cause."

"Well, at least we chased off Ashwalker," Rachel commented.

"Yeah," Tenebrae grinned. "We made him haul _ash_!"

Both Insight and Marionette shook their heads sadly, although Rachel giggled a little. When she saw the others were looking, she hastily composed her expression.

"So, what's next?" she asked.

Marionette and Insight both spoke at the same time. "Lung."

At the exact same time, Tenebrae said, "Go home."

They stopped and looked at each other. "What?" asked Tenebrae. "You want us to go against _Lung?_ He'll _talk_ us to death!"

"If we don't, then he'll keep coming," Insight told them. "And besides, the boss said we might be getting a bit of help."

"Another hero? Cool," exclaimed Tenebrae.

_Not ... exactly_, thought Insight grimly. _But I'll take what we can get._

* * *

They were still two blocks away, riding on dogback, when they saw the glow of the fire, the roaring of Lung.

"Whoa ..." breathed Tenebrae. "He's _pissed_."

They came closer, saw Lung menacing a slight figure on the rooftop, and came in for the attack. Brutus hit Lung hard, slamming him off the rooftop; the others slipped off their dogs, which then followed K-9's commands to take the evangelical superhero down a notch or two.

* * *

As they approached her, she straightened from a crouch and looked them over. The blank lenses of her mask gave her a creepy look.

Her voice was cold. "I had it under control."

"Sure, sure," agreed Tenebrae. "You did us a real solid there. Just thought we'd give you a helping hand."

She said nothing, looking them over one at a time.

"Look," Marionette began, approaching her. "Are you hurt?"

Insight shook her head. "She's not hurt. She's just pissed that she couldn't take Lung down with the bugs she was controlling."

That got her a sharp look. "Who the hell are you guys, anyway?" asked the costumed girl in the bug-themed outfit.

"Oh," replied Tenebrae, "we're the Upsiders. Local freelance heroes." He offered his hand with a broad grin. "And we can always do with new talent. Bug control, huh? Sounds pretty badass."

_And she's just realised she saved a bunch of heroes from being captured by Lung,_ Insight noted. _She made a mistake. She thought he's going after villains. __**She's**__ a villain. She's wondering what to do._

"I ... don't think so, not at the moment," the bug girl temporised.

"Look," Marionette broke in. "I'm Marionette, the team co-leader. That's Insight, the other co-leader. That's K-9, with the dogs. And the clown here's Tenebrae. What's your name?"

"Uh ... Hive Queen," the girl told them.

Tenebrae grinned. "Nice."

"Uh, hate to break this up," Insight told them. "But the Syndicate's incoming."

K-9 nodded and whistled sharply, the massively overgrown dogs soon returned to her call, leaving the groaning form of Lung on the pavement below.

"Want to come with?" asked Tenebrae. "You kicked ass tonight."

"I'll take my chances," snapped Hive Queen.

"Your choice," Marionette told her, climbing on to a dog. "Stay safe."

K-9 pulled the dogs up several blocks away, and checked them over for injuries. Lung nearly always tried to go for non-lethal strikes, but accidents could happen.

"What's gonna happen to him?" asked Tenebrae.

"Who, Lung? Ah, the Syndicate'll try to put him on ice, then he'll heal back and get away. You know how it goes." Marionette's voice was confident.

"What about the bug girl?" asked Rachel, climbing back on the dog.

"Who, Hive Queen?" asked Insight. "I think we'll see her again."

* * *

End of Part 3


	4. Chapter 4

**Adventures in the MirrorVerse**

* * *

Part 4 - Sellsword

* * *

I had bugs crawling all over Lung when the vehicle arrived. It was a tricked-out midnight-black Humvee with the classic S-with-crossed-broadsword-and-assault-rifle in blood-red, on the door. I gulped despite myself; I knew that emblem. I was about to meet one of the most famous - or infamous - members of the Protection Syndicate.

A moment later, I was proved correct, as the door opened and Sellsword got out. He wore a black helmet with a glowing red V-shaped visor; the lower half was open, showing his lower jaw and his goatee. The rest of his costume consisted of urban-camo gear over what I strongly suspected to be low-profile body armour; his gloves and boots were of the same glossy black as the helmet.

As he got out, he withdrew from the interior of the vehicle a sword as long as I was tall; the blade consisted of some sort of glossy black metal, shot through with pulsing red lines of power. A steady sullen red glow emanated from some sort of gem set into the pommel of the sword.

I had no idea how much a thing like that weighed, but he handled it easily with one hand. Despite myself, I was impressed.

But only a little bit. I mean, come on, I'm the _Hive Queen_. It takes serious shit to impress _me_.

"The fuck are you?" growled Sellsword, pointing the blade of his claymore at me. I'd read around on the net; that sword was apparently packed with more holy-shit Tinker tech than the entire fucking Humvee he rode around in. If he wanted to, he could could electrocute me, blast me with fire, short out all the electronics I was carrying around … or, you know, stab me. And I had a sneaking feeling that my black widow spider web costume wasn't going to protect me against that sword.

"Hive Queen," I told him defiantly, surrounding myself with bugs. "And I fucking took _Lung_ down."

"Huh," he responded, looking down at the fallen hero. Lung wore a costume reminiscent of a dragon, complete with wings coming out of the back. But he had a reputation for never going over the top, never hurting anyone who didn't deserve it, and never, ever, breaking the law.

"So what happens now? I get the bounty, right?"

He smiled, or at least showed his teeth. "Nope. I load him in my vehicle, and _I_ go and collect the bounty."

"Hey, wait just a fucking second!" I yelled. "_I_ fucking took him down!"

"And those heroes who just left had nothing to do with it?" he asked. "Oh yeah, I know they were here. I've been looking to get a crack at them for weeks now. Especially the Thinker they've got with them. Little bitch keeps second-guessing me."

Going by the ugly tone in his voice, I guessed Insight was in for a bad time if he ever captured her alive.

"He was about done when they got here," I blustered. "My defeat, fair and square."

"Fair and square?" He laughed, loud and long. "Sweetcakes, you're still in fucking diapers. What are you, thirteen?"

"Fifteen," I gritted.

"Fuck me, they're starting them young these days. Well, fifteen year old Hive Queen, what the fuck made you think that _villains_ would act fair with each other? You get what you can, and if someone fucks you over, you either fuck them over in return, or you say thank you sir, can I have some more. You don't go bleating about 'fair'. For fuck's sake."

He bent over Lung and injected him with something; the groaning hero immediately quieted. Then he hefted him with one arm and walked him toward the rear of the Humvee.

"Okay then, why don't you just, I dunno, cut his head off and take that in for the bounty?" I asked. "Why leave him alive?"

"Because some heroes saw him alive after he was defeated, dummy," he informed me bluntly. "If he turns up dead, they start killing ours, and pretty soon it's an all-out war. There are rules for a reason."

The rear of the Humvee opened, and he dumped the unconscious hero inside, then fastened him down to ring-bolts. As he closed it down again, he turned to me. "I'll pass the word that you're looking for work, if you want. We can always do with more kids in the Minions."

"Fuck off and die in a fire," I snarled. "I beat him fair and square."

He chuckled, vastly amused. "Well, the offer's there. Take it, or not. I don't give a shit."

Stowing the sword back in the front of the Humvee, he climbed back in, closed the door, and drove off.

I swore and ranted and raved a bit, but nothing would change the fact that Sellsword had stole my defeat – and my bounty – from under me.

_Fuck._

* * *

End of Part 4


	5. Chapter 5

**Adventures in the MirrorVerse**

* * *

Part 5 - School's Out

* * *

"So, Dad," I ventured over breakfast, "G-bitch wants us to do presentations in class about how capes have affected life in Brockton Bay. How do you think they have?"

Dad grunted and reached for another slice of toast. For a tall skinny guy, he could sure put it away. He could also scare the shit out of a room full of big, burly men. I'd seen him do it, more than once.

He chewed and swallowed a bite before answering.

"Well, first off, all this hero and villain shit has pulled the cops' attention away from the unions. It's made it easier to get stuff I need passed by the city council." Dad had several councillors in his pocket.

I scribbled as I ate. "This is good shit, Dad. What else?"

He perked up at my interest. "Uh ... let's see. There were a couple of rogues who tried getting work on the dockside. They could do three, four times the work of an ordinary man, and they woulda asked for that much more too. I fucking squashed that. Had legislation put in to ban capes from taking jobs from ordinary joes."

I scribbled some more. "So what happened then?"

"Eh, the PRT paid me a visit, told me that some capes were gonna get some jobs, on the hush-hush. So they got jobs. I didn't wanna end up floating face-down in the Bay, or part of some building foundation."

"These were Syndicate capes, huh?"

He ate some more toast. "Guess so. Never had no trouble, they never showed powers, got paid the same, no skin off of my nose."

"Right, right. Thanks, Dad."

And that was it. That was my home time with Dad.

* * *

He dropped me off at the bus stop, and I went to school.

My home room teacher was Miss Knott. I liked her. She didn't give a shit what I did in class. She didn't give a shit what _anyone_ did in class. She was about thirty, but looked about eighteen. Long blonde hair, a figure to die for, and a raging lezzo. She'd set class assignments, then immediately sit down and start sexting with whatever girlfriend she was going out with at the time. And not just cute 'I wuvs you' stuff either. This was full on explicit phone-sex; I caught a glimpse one time, and it sure as hell changed my view of the demure Miss Knott.

Anyway, I was online during home room. I wanted info on Lung, Sellsword and the Upsiders.

After browsing the wiki, I decided to check other parts of the boards.

To my surprise, I found a note in the Connections area addressed to me.

"Hive Queen," it read. "Like Tb said last night, you did us a solid. Like to meet? Is."

Just as I was considering what to do about this, a message came over the school PA system.

_"Taylor Hebert, please report to the Principal's office. Taylor Hebert, please report to the Principal's office."_

I looked around. _What the fuck?_

Miss Knott looked worriedly down toward me, and I shut down my computer. Getting up, I gave her a nod and grabbed my bag. I had a feeling I wouldn't be coming back to class.

* * *

I was right.

Principal Blackwell had gotten chapter and verse from Emma, Sophia and Madison on Friday afternoon. Photos had been taken, as had recorded statements. I'd neglected to flush the damn toilet, so the bits of pita bread and filling were still floating around in the bowl.

So Dad and I (oh yeah, Blackwell had called Dad in from work, and was _he_ pissed about that) had to sit and endure a lecture on bullying and how it degrades the school experience for all concerned. Emma's Dad came in as well to support her; I could see Dad shooting betrayed glances at him. Much as I'd felt betrayed by Emma, eighteen months ago.

Anyway, the upshot of it was that I was suspended for the week. It was actually a month of suspension, but I'd come back after one week, and I'd be on probation for the next three weeks. If I acted out in that time, I was gone for good. Expelled and blacklisted. About the only place I'd be able to get into after that would be fucking Arcadia.

"Now just a fucking minute," Dad protested.

I didn't have any illusions that he cared about my school career. He just wanted me out of the house; sometimes he would stay home from work, and I was never sure what he got up to, but when I got home, there were funny smells in the air and his sheets had odd stains on them.

"Not just a minute, Danny, not any more," Mr Barnes told him. "Emma told me what Taylor did to Madison. What she's done to Madison in the past. Now, if you want Madison's parents bringing suit against Taylor for aggravated assault, just keep talking."

"I thought we were friends -" began Dad.

"We _were_ friends, Danny. We worked well together, so long as it wasn't personal. It's personal now. Emma's shown me how necessary it is to separate ourselves from the trainwreck your daughter's making of her life, so that's exactly what we're doing."

"But you don't have to -"

Mr Barnes nodded. "Yes, we do. We need to make sure this shit doesn't spread in Winslow. Next we'll have gangs fighting and drugs being sold. So we're doing this, here, now."

"You're making a -"

"If you say 'big mistake', Danny, then prepare yourself for the fight of your life," Mr Barnes warned him. "I know that's exactly what you say, just before you set out to destroy someone. But I know you, I know your tactics, I have the law on my side, and I'm prepared to fight you down to every last penny."

Dad stared at him, face to face, gaze to gaze. And then, finally, incredibly, Dad dropped his eyes.

"Fine," he grunted. "A fucking week. Come on, Taylor. Let's go."

I got up with him, and we left.

* * *

"Dad -" I began, as we left the front doors and went down the steps.

"Not a fucking word," he told me. "In the car."

Chastened, I got in the car.

He got in the other side, then sat there, holding the steering wheel.

"So where you want to be dropped?" he asked as I did up my seat belt.

"Library," I told him.

"Okay."

Not another word passed between us as he drove me to the library.

* * *

I got on the computer and logged into the parahumans forums. Going to the Connections section, I created an anonymous account and answered Insight's post to me.

"Sure, I'll meet. When and where?"

I had three thoughts about this. If the Upsiders had a bounty on them and I managed to capture them, then that was money in the bank. If they proved too difficult to capture, then I could call in Sellsword and earn major brownie points by turning over Insight to him. And if the worst came to worst, I could just pretend to be a hero for a while and get out of home. Because right now, Dad was pissed at me, and I didn't like being at home when that happened.

We agreed to meet, after setting up various precautions. It was a place I knew, not far from the Boardwalk and the Market.

* * *

I got off the bus and started walking. The place we were supposed to meet wasn't far away. On the way there, I ducked into an alley and changed into the Hive Queen costume. Then I went the rest of the way.

They met me where we were supposed to meet me, and it wasn't a trap. Which was, I guess, a good thing. Eventually, I decided that I had seen their faces, so they might as well see mine.

They introduced themselves; Tenebrae, the perennial jokester, was called Brian. And he was even hunkier without the costume on. The ever-serious Insight was called Lisa. And her co-leader, the ever-responsible Marionette was called Alec. The redhead, K-9, was absent, so they didn't tell me her name.

"Taylor," I told them briefly. "So, where we going from here?"

"We got a place," Brian told me. "You're gonna love it."

* * *

It was interesting, I guess. It was in a big old factory building, up in the loft area. There was a spiral staircase leading upstairs, and that turned out to be the coolest feature.

Upstairs, there were two couches, a big-screen TV, a gaming console and other bits and pieces lying around. Pizza boxes and soda cans abounded.

I was just getting comfortable on the couch, wondering what was going to happen next, when the redhead came in the door.

"Oh!" she blurted. "Who's this?"

"Oh, yeah, Rachel, meet Taylor," Brian told her with a grin. "Remember, that Hive Queen girl we met last night?"

"What ... you've invited her back already?" she asked, in a distressed tone of voice. "But ... we don't know anything about her."

I came up off the couch fast. "What the fuck do you _mean_, you don't know anything about me?" I growled. "What's that supposed to mean, huh? Don't you trust me? Is that it?"

I grabbed her and slammed her against the wall. "Well, don't forget, _Rachel_, that I've got a name and a secret identity too. So you don't trust me? Fine! I don't trust you! In fact, I'm getting out of here! I don't need this shit!"

Grabbing my bag, I made for the stairs.

"Hey ..." Brian called out weakly from the kitchen. I ignored him. My feet clattered down the stairs. I had to make this look good.

* * *

Heavier feet clattered behind me. I got to the bottom, and risked a glance up. It was Brian coming after me. Turning away from him, I rubbed my eyes furiously, made them all red, as I headed for the door outside.

"Taylor, wait!" he called out. I slowed my pace fractionally.

He caught up as I reached the outside door. "Wait," he told me again, from right behind me.

"For what?" I demanded as I swung to face him. "For Lisa or Alec - I mean, Insight or Marionette - to decide that I'm not trustworthy too? Well, I've seen your fucking little clubhouse, and it's nothing special. I don't need this shit, I don't need the Upsiders, and I sure as fuck don't need ..."

Suddenly, real, actual tears welled up in my eyes.

_I don't need to be kicked out of Winslow, I don't need Dad to be pissed at me._

"Hey, hey, hey," he told me soothingly. "It's all right." I felt strong arms wrap around me and pull me to his chest. I tensed, ready to push away if he groped me, but they stayed on my back.

He held me till the tears stopped flowing.

"Fuck," I growled, pulling out a tissue and dabbing at my eyes. "I really, really don't need this shit."

"Come on back," he urged me gently. "Rachel will come around. Lisa already wants you in the team. And Alec thinks you're a good solid prospect."

So yeah, I went back. Which was, of course, my plan the whole time. Marionette nodded, Insight hugged me (which I found a little bit weird) and Rachel ... looked worried. Then she apologised to me for making me feel bad.

Step number one accomplished. I was a member of the Upsiders.

Now, what was step number two again?

* * *

End of Part 5


	6. Chapter 6

**Adventures in the MirrorVerse**

* * *

Part 6 - Plans

* * *

Thomas Calvert considered his options.

He knew quite well that, were the Protection Syndicate to even suspect his true capabilities and intentions, then his life would very quickly become very dangerous indeed. Nominally, he was a paid-up member of the PRT; an assassin squad leader. But in reality, he was much more than that.

Ever since the Goblin King debacle ten years ago, he had been gradually becoming more and more disillusioned with his situation. He'd barely escaped termination for his actions back then, and the woman they called the Pig, the head of PRT operations in Brockton Bay, still had suspicions about his dedication to the cause.

A few years ago, he had finally taken the step of contacting the shadowy organisation known only as Omega. They had checked him out, then gotten back to him. He had agreed to pay a certain amount of money in a certain time, or to render equivalent favours in a timely fashion; they had given him a vial of foul-tasting liquid. He had imbibed it, and ...

... everything had changed.

* * *

Calvert had found himself with the ability to travel two paths and pick one; he wasn't sure if it was some really specific precognition, or the actual ability to create two separate universes. To be honest, he wouldn't have been surprised either way.

Making enough money to satisfy Omega had been difficult, but not overly so. There were ways and means to make money that weren't overtly illegal, save that he was using his power to cheat. He assuaged his conscience by telling himself that it was all for the greater good.

He had to use his power some more when his construction company – built up under another name – was submitting bids to the Brockton Bay city council. He had swiftly found out that the entire council was corrupt, from Mayor Christner on down. Christner himself had a secret, Calvert had found after digging awhile. He had a niece.

* * *

Dinah Alcott was as mercenary as her uncle was corrupt. Only twelve years old, she was already charging him to give predictions on which way public opinion would go on any particular topic. As such, he was able to lead the trend, and actually stay in office with honest votes – a first for him.

She was also able, apparently, to predict threats to his life; Calvert knew of two separate assassination attempts which had failed due to Dinah's power of prediction.

Dinah presented a problem to him. If he were to clean up Brockton Bay, she would be there to warn her uncle about any strategies he might attempt. So he couldn't work against Christner directly. Nor could he have her assassinated; apparently she could see her own death really clearly, as one projected attempt showed.

So he had to set things up in such a way as to swamp her precognition. Heroes would have to hit villains all over town at once, causing trouble in holdings where both the Syndicate and Christner had interests. And then … he had to grab her.

He didn't want to kill her, not really. She only presented a real danger to him when coupled with the Christner political machine. And besides, he understood that she was a regular user of several illicit substances; apparently the precognition caused headaches, so she used drugs to keep them at bay. Getting her off these drugs, cleaning her up, would add years to her life.

It was the only right thing to do.

* * *

"Heads up," Lisa told us. "The boss has a mission for us."

"So who's this mysterious boss of ours, anyway?" I demanded. "I'm not sure I like the idea of just taking orders out of the blue. Shit, for all we know, he might be one of the Horsemen. Setting us up for a fall."

"Hey, hey, chill, chill," Brian told me. "He hasn't led us wrong yet. Every bust we've made has been righteous as hell."

"Even Lung?" asked Rachel nervously. "I hear Shebang's pissed at us for that."

"Hey, _he_ came after _us,"_ Brian reminded her. He turned back to me. "The boss is cool. He keeps on the down-low so no-one can trace us through him, or vice versa. If the local villains found out how good he was at pointing us at busts, they'd be on him like flies on shit."

I sighed. "Fine. But I really don't like being kept in the dark. What's this all-important mission?"

Lisa's voice was serious and deadpan. "There's a drug and money clearing house. We're to hit it, destroy the drugs, take as much of the money as we can carry. Make a really big noise doing it."

"Woo hoo!" whooped Brian.

Rachel blinked. "What … we get to keep the money?"

Lisa nodded. "Yes. We have expenses; we may as well let the villains pay for them." She turned to me. "Are you okay with this?"

Free money? Shit yeah, I was okay with that. After Sellsword's little scam on me, I didn't give a shit where the money came from.

"Sure," I told her, feigning reluctance. "I guess."

"Is this really okay, Alec?" asked Rachel. "I mean, stealing … and maybe hurting people?"

"Dad always stressed responsibility for others," Alec told us seriously. "I'm sure we can do this without hurting innocents. Or even not so innocents."

"Who's your dad, anyway?" I asked him.

"He's a Canadian hero called Heart-Throb," he explained. "He's able to manipulate emotions. Make bank robbers feel guilty and give up, that sort of thing."

"Sounds like you could do a lot with a power like that," I commented.

"Yeah, which is why he's always really careful with it," he replied earnestly. "He's taught me to be just as careful with my power."

"Cool," I answered, while thinking that Heart-Throb had to be an idiot for not making more of his power. I saw Insight give me a sharp look, and I suppressed that thought. I didn't want to be caught out this early in the game.

"I think you've still got reservations, Hive Queen," Lisa remarked.

I began to reply in the negative, then Brian spoke up. "Let's go for a walk, and we'll talk it out, okay?"

"Okay," I agreed. _It might give me a chance to sound him out._

* * *

Brian and I strolled out of the factory, side by side.

"You don't like the idea of robbing criminals?" he asked me.

"Oh, I got no problem with that," I answered honestly. "They take from people, right? Only right to take from them. How much is it, anyway?"

"Lisa says anywhere between fifty to a hundred thou," he replied soberly.

"Holy shit," I blurted. "So we get ten to twenty thou each? Well, not counting the boss's cut, right?"

He shook his head. "Boss doesn't take cuts. Heroes, remember?"

I nodded. "Yeah, yeah, gotcha."

"So where's your problem? That the boss doesn't tell us who he is?"

"Yeah," I replied. _Because if I can hand the whole kit and kaboodle to the Syndicate, I'll get a shitload of bounty._

"Hey," he told me lightly. "It's a thing. Just consider it a secret identity taken a little farther than normal."

"Yeah, I guess," I replied.

"We should be getting back," he ventured.

I nodded. At least we'd gotten that sorted out.

In silence, we walked back to the loft.

Tomorrow, we would rob the criminals.

* * *

End of Part 6


	7. Chapter 7

**Adventures in the MirrorVerse**

* * *

Interlude: Ellisburg

* * *

Jamie Rinke sat in a chair and enjoyed the sun.

It was a good day to be king of his own little domain.

Ten years ago, his powers had first started emerging; he had begun spawning creatures from his own body. While at first the populace was alarmed and even hostile, he had quickly soothed them. His creatures were well-intentioned, and bore no-one any malice. Moreover, they were fast and strong, and were willing and able to take over the job of keeping the peace. Alongside properly sworn-in officers of the law, of course.

The trouble began when his creatures started uncovering evidence of organised crime inside Ellisburg. He had decided that this was not to be borne, and set out to eradicate the stain of wrongdoing from the face of the city.

Oh, the little crimes remained, for people to perpetrate and be caught by the police for, but the big crimes, the hidden ones, he would clean up. He would expunge them from the city, once and for all.

The PRT fought back, of course, with backing from the Syndicate. But his creatures were too fast, too strong, too multitudinous. They were driven back, and had never been able to enter Ellisburg again.

And today, the city thrived. It was the cleanest metropolis in the United States; some of his creatures were dedicated street-cleaners. It was the most honest; all anyone had to do was come to him with a complaint, and his creatures would sniff out the truth. And it was the most law-abiding; if a crime was committed, his creatures would track down the perpetrators and bring them in for sentencing and punishment, all agreed on by the people of Ellisburg.

The most strenuous of these was exile from Ellisburg itself. So many people tried to move to the city that some called the Goblin Kingdom that he had to turn away dozens every month. But they had a point, he had to admit; everyone was fed, clothed and housed, here. A ten year old child could walk from one side of the city to the other, holding a hundred-dollar note in her hand, and not one person would bother her, save to ask her if she needed assistance to get home.

He put his hand on Polka's, as she sat beside him. She smiled at him.

"It's a good day to be alive, isn't it, love?" he asked.

"It is, indeed, my king," she replied. "It is indeed."

* * *

End of Interlude


	8. Chapter 8

**Adventures in the MirrorVerse**

* * *

Interlude: Emma, Taylor and Sophia

* * *

"So why did they make you change your name?" asked Emma.

Sophia snorted. "They said it wasn't badass enough."

"Yeah? That's stupid. I liked Shadow Stalker as a name."

"You and me both," Sophia told her. "Shadow Slayer? That's not 'badass'. That's 'pending murder charge'."

"Yeah," agreed Emma. "It's like they're trying to advertise the fact that they made you start carrying sharp arrows, instead of those blunt ones you were using."

Sophia grimaced. "You ask me? I think they're trying to toughen me up, make me fit into their idea of how the Syndicate should go.". She shook her head. "And I don't think I do. I really don't. I mean, when I got into this gig, I was all about the 'ethical villain' concept. We needed extra money, being a hero just doesn't pay, so I started stealing. Not enough to hurt anyone. Just enough to let us get by, basically. And when we didn't need money, I didn't steal."

"Remember when we first met?" asked Emma.

* * *

**August, 2009**

* * *

"But, Dad, I don't know _what_ I want to do," Emma told her father, and pouted. "Taylor says they all suck donkey balls, anyway."

Alan Barnes frowned. "I'm not sure I like the way things are going between you and Taylor, Emma. Since Anne-Rose left Danny, she's been getting more and more like him and less and less like her mother. I'm not sure I like the sort of person she's turning into."

"Seriously, Dad?" asked Emma. "Taylor's all kinds of cool. Her Dad knows everyone who's anyone. I mean, no-one messes with him."

"I am fully aware of what type of man Danny Hebert is, Emma," Alan told his daughter seriously. "I have worked with the man for quite a few years. But while he has been an adequate business partner, he is not the sort of man I would want as a role model for my daughter."

"Dad, I think you're being totally unfair on him," Emma began, just as her phone rang. "Oh, hey, it's Taylor."

Immediately abandoning the conversation with her father, she answered the phone. "Hey, Taylor. What's up?"

Even as she spoke, she could hear the low, sweet jazz music almost overlaying the conversations in the background.

* * *

"Yo, bitch," replied Taylor. "How're they hanging?" She lifted the glass she had in her hand, and took another cautious sip. It burned all the way down, but she schooled herself not to flinch. The men around the table nodded approvingly; cigarette smoke hung heavy in the air. She thought it might be cool to borrow one for a puff, see what it was like, but her Dad didn't smoke, so she figured he might not be okay with it. But there he was, knocking back the bourbon with his buddies, and so he'd nodded when she'd asked if she could have a glass as well.

"_Uh … okay?"_ replied Emma uncertainly. "_Where are you?"_

"Oh, out with my dad," Taylor replied off-handedly. She took another hit of the bourbon; it was a bit more than she'd had before, and she thought her eyeballs were about to catch fire. "Kickin' back, shootin' the shit with the boys. You?"

"_I'm with my Dad too,"_ Emma told her. "_We're driving through town. Oh."_

"'Oh', what, Ems?" asked Taylor, knocking back some more of the bourbon. It still burned, but she was starting to get used to it. "Not one of those fucking windscreen washer dudes? Get your dad to run him the fuck over." The idea sounded hilarious to her, and she giggled.

"_No … no. It's some sort of street festival,"_ Emma replied. "_There's stuff in the way. We're stopping."_

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me," Taylor laughed. "Tell your dad to put his foot down, run those hippie freaks over. Here, give him the phone, I'll tell him myself."

* * *

"No … no," Emma told her nervously. "Dad's gotten out to talk to them. He wants them to move out of the way."

"_Good fucking luck with that,"_ Taylor responded coarsely. "_So, what you been doing? Been keeping the bitches down while I been out of town?"_

Emma was reminded abruptly of the girls that Taylor had been in the habit of casually bullying in the last six months of school; she had gone along with it, even participated a few times, but since Taylor had gone on that trip with her Dad over the summer break, she hadn't even thought of it.

"Ah – not really," she admitted. "I've just been waiting for you to get back, so we could catch up."

"_Yeah, I can't wait to get back too,"_ Taylor agreed. "_I mean, this trip's a blast, an' I'm learnin' all sorts of things, but I can't wait to get back to school and kick asses till they know who's boss."_

"Uh, yeah," Emma replied. "I -"

She became aware of someone tapping on the window. "Oh, uh, I'll call you back."

"_Catch you on the flip side, bitch."_

"Same to you, uh, bitch."

She hung up, and turned to see who wanted her.

It was a dark-skinned girl about her age, with beads woven into her hair, and a wide, guileless smile; she made motions to wind down the window.

Emma shrugged and wound down the window.

"Hi," the girl greeted her immediately. "I'm Sophia. You look bored stuck in that car. Want to come walk around the show with me?"

"Oh, hi," Emma replied. "Emma Barnes. Um, I dunno. I think we might be leaving real soon."

She got out of the car and saw her father a few yards away, arguing with a man almost as large and red-faced as he was.

As she got closer, she caught the words, almost drowned out by the festivities around them.

" - don't care what sort of a permit you've got. I want you to move your things out of the way, and clear the road, so that we can get home!"

"I'm sorry, sir," the red-faced man told him. "Unless you're a city council official, you can't revoke our permits, and this festival is going to go on. It's an Asian Benevolent fundraiser. We can maybe open up the street behind you, so you can get out that way ..."

"That's no good," ground out Alan Barnes. "We'd have to backtrack and go well out of our way. How long are you going to be here?"

"Another four hours at least," the man stated, looking at his watch. "Look, why don't you just walk around, see the sights, enjoy the festival. Here, have a book of vouchers. Free rides, cotton candy, snacks. To make up for the inconvenience."

Alan Barnes took the vouchers, and looked around at the ongoing festival. There were clowns, fire jugglers, stilt-walkers, a small merry-go-round, and many other things happening. Music was playing here and there, some live and some recorded.

"Can we, Dad?" asked Emma. "Can we walk around?"

He took a deep breath, inhaling scents that had been long forgotten, and when he let it out, some of the tension was gone from his shoulders. "Sure thing, Emma," he told her. "Want to walk around with me, or are you good on your own?"

"Oh, uh, this girl Sophia says she can show me around," Emma stammered. "Sophia, this is my dad. Dad, this is Sophia."

Sophia smiled and held out her hand. "Sophia Hess. I'm very pleased to meet you, sir."

Emma's father smiled and shook the proffered hand. "Alan Barnes. Likewise." He tore the book of vouchers in two, and gave Emma half. "If you need me, call. Don't leave the festival."

Emma took the vouchers. "Okay, Dad, and thanks."

Sophia grinned and turned to Emma. "Want to get your hair beaded? It's a blast."

Emma studied the beads in Sophia's hair. It did look kind of cool. "Okay, sure."

Sophia grabbed her hand and dragged her off toward a stall, talking nineteen to the dozen. Alan watched them go. _Now there's someone who would be good for her,_ he thought.

* * *

"_Same to you, uh, bitch."_

Taylor barely heard the words as she shut the phone down and put it away. She drained the last of the bourbon in her glass, and tapped it on the table, as she had seen the men do. A waiter materialised, gave an almost imperceptible glance to where her father sat nearby. He nodded impatiently, then went back to his wheeling and dealing. The waiter poured a healthy shot of bourbon into her glass.

"Hey," she blurted, as he was about to leave. "Can I get a cigarette?"

"Certainly, ma'am." The waiter obviously decided that, as she was being permitted to drink, then a smoke was not exactly pushing the boundaries. He produced a pack from an inner pocket, and laid it, along with a plastic lighter, on the table alongside the glass. "Compliments of the house, ma'am," he stated smoothly.

She opened it, pulled out one, put it in her mouth, and picked up the lighter. Thousands of hours of watching old movies came to her assistance, and she managed to get it lit on the first try. Then she inhaled the smoke, and nearly coughed her lungs out.

There was a general snickering around the table; Danny looked around, saw her with the cigarette in her hand, shrugged, and went back to what he was doing. Taylor steeled herself, took a drink of bourbon, then took another draw on the cigarette.

The alcohol burned all the way down, but it seemed to cushion the acrid taste of the cigarette smoke; at the very least, she didn't start coughing again. She didn't like the taste, not particularly, but she could stand it. And sitting there, with a glass of bourbon in one hand and a lit cigarette in the other, she could tell herself she was among equals, that she was just as good as any man there.

Finally, she was a part of her father's world. Finally, she might gain his respect.

* * *

The alcohol burned just as much coming up as it did going down, and it tasted a hell of a lot worse. Taylor hunched over the hotel toilet, heaving and gagging, as miserable as she had ever been. The bourbon she had drunk came up, as did the food she had eaten earlier. And she still felt dizzy and light-headed.

She got up, staggered two steps to the wash-basin, and flushed her mouth out, then brushed her teeth.

"God, that stuff tastes fucking horrible," she said out loud.

Her father's chuckle answered her from the other room, where he was watching TV. "Typical newbie mistake. You had too much, too quickly. You need to ease into it."

"You could have warned me," she retorted, stung.

"Are you gonna make that mistake again?"

"Fuck, no."

"Well, then."

"I still think it's a mean trick."

"Well, you can mean trick your way into the shower. Your hair stinks of smoke, just like your clothes do."

"I can't smell it."

"Trust me," he told her heavily. "Your nose is all desensitised. You were literally breathing the stuff into your lungs all fucking night."

"Oh. Okay."

"Just so you know, if you pick up the habit, you pay for the smokes. Not me."

"Not fucking likely, Dad," she called through the door as she stripped off. "They taste even worse than the fucking bourbon."

His laughter followed her into the shower.

She didn't spend long; shampooed her hair, scrubbed her body, washed her armpits, then got out again. Hotel towels were huge and fluffy, she discovered, and she could wrap one around her about four times. There were also bathrobes; she put one on over her underwear, and wrapped a towel around her wet hair.

* * *

When she came out, he was reclining in the half-lounge, wearing the other bathrobe, watching TV. He held a tumbler in his hand, with half an inch of amber liquid in the bottom. As she emerged, he raised it in her direction. "Nightcap?"

She wrinkled her nose. "No thanks. I don't think drinking's my thing."

He chuckled warmly. "Well, you learned your lesson a sight faster than most, I'll give you that."

She sat down beside him and nodded at the TV. "What's on?"

He shrugged. "Fuck knows. I just turned it on for the noise." He raised the glass. "I need to wind down, you know? Dealing with assholes all night."

"Yeah, well, I enjoyed myself. Apart from the throwing up part, that is."

"Well, at least you waited till you got back here. Joe Tremaine, he runs the show in Chicago, stopped me on the way out. Congratulated me on having a kid who can hold her booze and smoke without coughing her guts up. That's good. You made me look good tonight."

She felt warm all over at the rare praise. "Well, I did cough a bit, at first," she confessed.

"That doesn't matter," he told her seriously. "Everyone coughs, the first time. But you smoked the rest of that one, and three more. I watched you. You were even blowing smoke rings, at the end."

Taylor felt warm inside. Finally, her dad respected her. She really _was_ a part of his world, now.

_Fuck what anyone else thinks of me._

* * *

**Three weeks later**

* * *

Taylor banged on the front door of the Barnes house. "Yo!" she called out. "Rise and shine!"

Alan Barnes opened the door. "Hello, Taylor," he greeted her. Then his nose wrinkled.

She picked up on the cool tone in his voice, and stared at him. "Hey, what's up, Mr B? Just here to pick up the Emster, and go cruise the mall."

He frowned. "Uh, Taylor, have you been smoking?"

She shrugged. "What's it to you? Dad's fine with it." She'd had two on the bus over, oblivious to the glares of the other passengers.

He grimaced. "Well, I'm not going to tell you what you can and can't do; you're not my daughter, after all. But I'm going to have to ask you to not smoke in the house."

She shrugged, ignoring his words. "Dad pretty well lets me do what I like."

"So I see," Barnes replied. "But in my house, my rules. No smoking." Another scent caught his nose. "And have you been drinking?"

A shrug. "Like I said, Dad lets me -"

"All right, fine. No drinking in the house, except with the permission of responsible adults. Got it?"

Another shrug. "Sure. Can I come in now, or do you want to give me the third degree?"

He sighed. She was Emma's friend, after all. "Sure, come on in."

She gave him a false smile. "Thanks, Mr B."

* * *

Emma looked up as Taylor barged into her room, casually closing the door as she did so. "Yo, Emster. How're they hanging, beeyatch?"

"Uh, fine," Emma told her uncertainly. Sophia was coming over shortly, and she didn't know how the two would get along. Taylor's world was dark and mysterious and slightly dangerous, and she felt a thrill of risk whenever she went anywhere with the girl; Sophia, on the other hand was fun and happy and easy to get along with. And there was the other bit, the secret identity, which she had sworn not to tell anyone about.

She had once looked up to Taylor, had idolised her. But that was before she had met Sophia. Now she was re-evaluating her choices. And more and more about Taylor was beginning to come up short.

But Taylor was here now, and Emma decided that her worries could be shelved. Her best friend was back from the trip, and they could have fun and paint each others' nails and be best friends again, like they used to be, before Taylor's mother left.

* * *

Taylor plumped herself down on the bed beside Emma; immediately, the redhead smelt the smoke and alcohol on her friend's breath. She had known that Taylor drank occasionally, but this smelt strong. And she'd never smelt smoke on her breath before.

"Have you been smoking and drinking?" she asked.

Taylor lay back on the bed, arms outstretched. "Oh man, _have _I?" she chuckled. "Those meetings Dad takes me to? Wall to wall booze, cigarettes for the taking." She pulled a pack of cigarettes out of her bag. "Want one?"

Emma shook her head. "I don't smoke, Taylor. And nor should you."

"Dad lets me," Taylor told her indistinctly, putting a cigarette in her own mouth, and digging through her bag for a lighter.

"No, no, you can't smoke in my room!" Emma protested.

"Eh, fine, whatevs, spoilsport." Taylor jerked the cigarette from her mouth and put it back in the pack. "Stay in fifth grade forever."

"A lot of adults don't smoke," Emma pointed out. "Dad doesn't. Nor does your dad."

"Pussies, the lot of them," Taylor opined. She put the pack in her bag, and pulled out a small bottle. "Quick snort?" She peered at the label. "Says Johnny Walker Black Label. I've got ten bucks says it's generic Scotch." Popping off the cap, she downed half of it in one swallow.

Emma watched in horrified fascination. She didn't know who this was, not any more. The drinking wasn't exactly new, but previously it had been more of a 'dare-you-to' situation. Now, it was a casual thing. And the smoking was definitely new.

"Here you go," Taylor offered, holding out the bottle. "Have a taste. Put hair on your -"

"No!" snapped Emma. "I don't want to drink, and I don't want to smoke." Tears filled her eyes. "Taylor … things used to be so much fun between us. Now you're a whole different person. What _happened_ to you?"

Taylor shrugged. "Life happened. Come on, live a little." She offered the bottle again. "Just one drink. You'll see how much fun it is." She tried to force it to Emma's mouth.

Emma pushed it away. "No!"

Taylor rolled her eyes. "Come on, you know you want to." She tried again.

"I said no!" Emma pushed her away violently. The open bottle fell and spilled on the bed.

* * *

Alan Barnes heard the raised voices and frowned. He headed down the corridor and knocked on Emma's bedroom door. "Is everything all right in there?"

"No, Dad!" came Emma's voice at once. "Hel- mmmph!"

He opened the door, to find Taylor and Emma struggling, Taylor with her hand over Emma's mouth, and the stink of cheap alcohol pervading the room.

Striding forward, he pulled Taylor from on top of Emma. "What in god's name is going on here?" he demanded.

"Nothing you need to worry about, Mr B," Taylor spat. "Let me go. Emma and I were just play fighting, weren't we, Emma?"

"No, we weren't," Emma sobbed. "Taylor wanted to smoke and drink, and she wanted to make me drink, and I didn't want to, and she spilled it on the bed ..."

Taylor struggled; Alan did not let go. "I think it's time you left, Taylor," he told her coldly.

Emma sat up. "Wait, Dad. Just a minute." She got up and put her hands on Taylor's shoulders. "What _happened_ to you, Taylor?" she whispered. "Why are you like this?"

Taylor sneered at her. "I grew up, Emma," she retorted. "Something you should try sometime."

Emma shook her head. "No, this isn't you. You're a nice person. Please, can't you be that nice person again?"

"Why?" asked Taylor blankly. "So people can put shit on me? Not fucking likely."

Emma handed Taylor her bag. Her voice was sad. "Then I guess this is goodbye."

Taylor stared. "Wait just a fucking minute," she blurted. "You're kicking _me_ out? I don't get kicked out of places."

Alan began dragging her out of the room, and down the hall. "This will be a first, then," he observed grimly.

"No!" shouted Taylor. "No! This shit does not happen! Not to me!"

Alan did not pause in his movements toward the door. "Taylor, I'm afraid you have officially worn out your welcome."

* * *

They were at the front door, with Emma holding it open. She looked sadly at Taylor as she stood panting on the porch. "I'm sorry, Taylor. But you hurt people. You put people down. I don't need that in my life."

The gate clattered behind Taylor and she turned; a dark-skinned girl was just making her way up the path.

"Who the fuck are you?" demanded Taylor.

"I might ask the same thing," responded the newcomer.

"Sophia, this is Taylor," Emma put in hastily. "She was just leaving."

"No, I wasn't," Taylor denied.

"Yes, you were," Alan Barnes confirmed.

Taylor glanced from one to the other, then stamped down the stairs. She was a little taller than Sophia, but the other girl did not seem intimidated. From the way she stood, she seemed well able to handle herself.

"Fine," spat Taylor at last, and stamped down the path. She slammed the gate on the way out.

"That went well," observed Sophia to Emma.

Emma sighed. "Oh, you have _no_ idea." She took a deep breath, and tried to clear her mind of the unpleasantness that had just gone down with Taylor.

Taking Sophia's hand, she led her indoors. "Come on, I've got stuff to show you ..."

* * *

End of Interlude


	9. Chapter 9

**Adventures in the MirrorVerse**

* * *

Interlude: Emma, Taylor and Sophia - Part 2

* * *

**Taylor**

* * *

Dad's business trip took three weeks, more or less. I went out to all his meetings with him. In the course of them, I learned an important fact: he did not, as it happened, respect me for who I was. I was an adjunct, a useful accessory. The Hebert kid, who could smoke and drink and swear with the guys. It was his party trick. I'd show up, a skinny kid in a cocktail dress, they'd pour me a glass of whatever booze was going at the time, and I'd knock it back, then light up a cigarette and blow a smoke ring. They loved it.

Despite what I'd said, I kept up the smoking and drinking. It helped put a distance between me and the world, helped me pretend that I really was, on some level, Dad's partner, instead of just a clever kid. I'd smoke most of a packet of cigarettes - it helped that I didn't have a preference, as they all tasted grucky to me - and drink a few glasses of whatever booze they were serving, and in general hold up my end of the deal. But I was careful to limit my intake; drinking with care, I would usually only have a light buzz on by the end of the night.

Of course, I couldn't drink as much as the guys; I simply didn't have the body mass to absorb all that alcohol. The one time I tried, Dad had to carry me back to the hotel. He let me throw up in the toilet - the second and last time _that_ ever happened, thank you very fucking much - and then poured me into bed. I was asleep before my head hit the pillow.

* * *

I guess I did a lot of smoking and drinking over that trip, but while I had cravings for a while after, booze and cigarettes are fucking expensive, and Dad had made it clear that he would not be supporting any habits I had. So I didn't do it after I got home.

What I did do was go and visit my best bud, Emma Barnes. We'd been tight since fuck knows when, and I wanted to get back in touch. But to my utter and total surprise, she'd become a total prude in that time, and even managed to pick up a new friend while I'd been gone. Some black bitch called Sophia fucking Hess. Dumped me in favour of her. I couldn't fucking believe it.

I actually went to Dad about it, asked him if he could do something about it. He looked into it, found out that Sophia's dad was non-union. He couldn't touch him. And he wouldn't have the guy's legs broken, just on my say-so.

_Fuck._

So, yeah, when school started, I was in a pretty foul mood. It didn't help that when I tried to assert my natural position of alpha bitch, all too often, Emma and Sophia would intervene. I couldn't scare either of them away, and when I tried to organise my own little bunch of leg-breakers - or at least, ass-kickers - it turned out that Sophia could kick ass pretty well herself.

So there I was, at a loose end, suspended for a week, and joining the Upsiders - a bunch of _heroes_, if you can believe that.

Yeah, things were looking up. After a fashion.

* * *

**Emma and Sophia**

* * *

**August 2009**

* * *

"So what was that all about?" asked Sophia, once they were in Emma's room. Emma had stripped the bed and turned over the mattress, but the smell of alcohol was still faintly evident.

Emma shook her head. "I used to be best friends with Taylor. But she had family problems - her mom was sleeping around. Men and women both. When her dad found out, he beat her up pretty bad, and she left - and Taylor's started getting meaner and meaner. And she's just been on a trip with her dad, and now she smokes and drinks, and I don't understand her any more."

Sophia put a hand on her shoulder. "That's not your fault," she reassured Emma gently.

Emma looked up at her and smiled. "Thanks. But it kind of was. I would go around with her in middle school, and I'd back her up when she took kids' lunch money. We'd go to fundraisers or whatever, and because Taylor was Danny's daughter, they'd let us in to the back rooms, or drink whatever we liked at the bar." She grimaced. "I don't actually like alcohol. Taylor used to drink a little bit, just to show off."

Sophia nodded. "So she had power, and she showed it off, and you were impressed."

"You're so understanding, Soph. Yeah, that's exactly how it was. And I guess I had fun being her sidekick, or whatever I was. I certainly wasn't in charge. And Dad said something to me, and then I met you, and I saw the contrast between you and her. And when Dad told me that he thought you were a nice kid ... well, I know that I can't have both of you as friends at the same time, so I had to make the choice. And I've made it."

Sophia hugged Emma spontaneously. "Aww, Emma, that's so sweet of you."

Emma hugged her back. "See, this is another thing I miss from Taylor. Once upon a time, we'd hug. Now ... not so much."

"Well, I got all the hugs in the world for you, Emma." She rested her forehead against the redhead's. "Aren't you glad you and your dad drove down that one side street?"

Emma nodded. "Oh, definitely."

Sophia grinned. "Now, to change the subject entirely, you were going to show me something?"

"Oh yeah." Emma grabbed her laptop. "Check out this new site I found. You can put in your body measurements, it makes a virtual dummy of you, and you can try on clothes ..."

Alan looked in on them, several minutes later. Red head and dark were side by side, clicking the mouse, murmuring to each other and making adjustments to the dummies on the screen. They were so totally engrossed in what they were doing that he didn't have the heart to bother them. Smiling, he went on his way.

* * *

**August, 2010**

* * *

"Shadow Stalker."

Sophia jumped violently. She had been certain she was alone on the rooftop, overlooking the jewelry store. Turning hastily, with her crossbow coming up to the ready, she realised that shooting would be worse than useless. Three capes faced her; Sellsword, Artillery and Speedfreak. Artillery had some sort of gun pointed at her; Sophia had absolutely zero doubt in her mind that any attempt at flight or resistance would see her in a lot of pain. Or dead.

"Oh shit." It was the only think she could think to say.

Artillery's face was impassive behind the gas-mask that she habitually wore, but Sellsword's mouth creased in a brief smile, as did Speedfreak's.

"Uh, look, guys, if you were gonna hit this place, it's fine, I'll go someplace else," babbled Sophia. "Seriously. No trouble from me."

Sellsword shook his head. "No. It's not the store. It's you."

Her voice rose to an even higher register. "Me?" she squeaked.

Speedfreak nodded jerkily. He did everything jerkily, as though he was permanently on double speed. "Yeah, you," he told her rapidly.

"You commit crimes in Sydicate territory, and you do not pay us tribute," Artillery put in, her voice a monotone.

Sophia blinked rapidly behind her mask. "Um, um, um, how do I make this good?" she asked.

Sellsword's smile widened a touch. "And that's the right question. You're coming with us."

"Can - can I ask where we're going?"

Sellsword showed his teeth. His answer made Sophia's guts clench, and her knees turn to water.

"You're going to see the Pig."

* * *

Sophia stood in the middle of the carpet, in front of the large desk. It needed to be large, because the Pig was sitting behind it.

No-one knew her real name; everyone called her the Pig. She was at least four hundred pounds of blubber and piggy visage. She was eating at the time. Sophia watched with horrible fascination.

The Pig hardly paused for breath between bites, and still she was able to talk to Sophia.

"Shadow Stalker." It was not a question.

"Uh, yes, ma'am." _Be really, really, really polite._

The head wobbled, chins shook. Maybe she had nodded.

"Real name Sophia Hess."

Sophia nodded. "Yes, ma'am." The unwritten rules about not unmasking capes apparently did not apply to the Pig.

"You steal in our territory, and do not pay us tribute."

Sophia swallowed. She really, really, really wanted to pee right now. She held it in.

"Yes, ma'am. I'm sorry, ma'am."

"Sorry doesn't pay the bills. You have three options."

She paused to ingest what looked like most of a roast turkey. Sophia waited, but she did not continue.

"Ma'am?"

The piggy gaze turned back to her. "One. You can pay back all the tribute that you owe us, with interest."

Sophia's heart sank. Her 'earnings' had gone directly to supporting her family. She could never pay that.

"Ma'am ... we ... I ... don't have that sort of money."

"Well, there is the second option. You can join the Minions. Your wages will be garnished for your debt, but you will get enough to live on."

Sophia considered that. "Uh ... what's the third option, ma'am?"

The piggy visage widened in a malevolent grin. "You do _not_ want to know, little girl."

And all of a sudden, she didn't. She really didn't.

"Um, okay. Looks like I'm joining the Minions, then."

"Welcome aboard." The Pig spared her not another glance; she went back to eating. Sophia backed out of the room, glad to be out of there with her life.

* * *

Sophia looked with dismay at the costume they had given her. "What is this?" Gone was the cloak. The hockey mask was down to a simple domino. And the bodysuit ...

Usurper, current leader of the Minions in Brockton Bay, pointed at it. "Your costume."

"But ... there's _bits_ missing out of it."

He nodded. "Cutouts."

"But ... _why?"_

"The news likes to see female villains getting around in skimpy attire. It raises our approval ratings. Full body suits don't cut it, not any more. So, cutouts."

Sophia studied the costume some more. It would show her belly, some of her thighs and arms, her cleavage ...

_Think of Dad and Mom. Think of my family._

"I ... guess. But where's the cloak?"

"You don't need it. It's got too much chance of hiding your body."

Sophia sighed in resignation. "Okay ... sure."

* * *

She headed into the other room to change, and felt not much better about it when she came out. Then Usurper handed her the crossbows and the case of arrows. Automatically, she checked the latter.

"Wait a minute," she protested. "These things are _sharp!"_

"Well, yeah," he agreed. "That's the whole point of arrows, so to speak. They're sharp. You go shooting blunt arrows at people, no-one respects you. No-one _fears_ you."

She swallowed. "I'm really not comfortable with ..."

He lowered his brow. "Do you want to go and tell the Pig you've changed your mind?"

She swallowed again. "No," she admitted in a small voice.

"Oh, and one other thing," he told her, with evident relish. "Shadow Stalker's too wimpy. From now on, you're Shadow Slayer."

It was almost too much. Almost, she shoved the whole thing back at him and told him where to stick the Minions. Almost.

But not quite.

Too many people were depending on her.

She had to grit her teeth and get through it.

When she turned eighteen, she was out of the Minions, and she could be a lone villain all she liked, or join the Syndicate under her original name. But until then ...

* * *

**December 2010**

* * *

Emma awakened from a light doze at the tap on her window. She rolled over and opened it, and the costumed figure tumbled into the room.

"Sophia?" she whispered. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh god, oh god, I had to come and see you." Sophia's voice was on the edge of tears. "Hold me, just hold me."

Emma held her friend tightly. She was shuddering. "What's the matter?"

"Everyone. Everything. Mom and Dad don't know how bad it is in the Minions. I can't tell them, or Dad might do something."

Emma went cold all over. "They haven't ..."

Sophia shook her head. "No. But it's the constant _pressure_. Shadow Slayer, you've got to front up more. Shadow Slayer, you've got to live up to your name. Shoot someone, for fuck's sake." She clutched Emma tightly. "And Chauvinist making passes all day long. Comments, jibes, trying to look down my top ..."

Emma held her close, stroked her hair. "It's okay, Sophia. I'm here. You can stay here as long as you like."

Sophia's shaking began to decrease. "Thanks, Emma. You have no idea how much I appreciate this."

"Hey, you're my best friend. What are friends for?" Emma made room on the bed, and Sophia settled down with a sigh of relief.

"You can stay the night," Emma urged her. "There's room. You don't have to go if you don't want to."

"Oh god, thank you." Sophia snuggled down next to Emma. "You really have no idea how much I appreciate this."

It didn't take her long to drop off to sleep.

* * *

**January 2, 2011**

* * *

"I really wish there was something we could do to help Taylor," fretted Emma. "I've tried, and I've tried, and I've tried. She just won't listen."

"Have you tried staging an intervention?" asked Sophia.

Emma blinked. "Um, no. How do you do that?"

Sophia explained. It sounded so simple. Even Emma's father thought so.

In reality, not so much.

* * *

**Taylor (again)**

* * *

There was a knock on the door. I frowned. That wasn't Dad; it was too early for him to be home, and he wouldn't knock anyway. I thought about ignoring it, but it came again.

"Taylor!" It was Emma's voice. "Can we come in, please?"

_What the fuck is Emma doing here?_

I got off the couch and went to open the door. Not only was Emma there, but so was her father.

"So, she's dropped you, has she?" I enquired. "Come crawling back to me?"

"Is your father home?" asked her father.

I shook my head. "Nah. At a meeting. Discussing shit with the mayor." Kickbacks and bribes, I knew from experience.

Emma shook her head. "We need to talk to you. Can we come in, please?" she asked again.

I shrugged, and wished I had a cigarette. _If she wants me back as her friend, she's gonna have to do some crawling, all right. This should be good._ "Sure, knock yourself out."

* * *

I wandered back into the living room, sat on the couch. "So talk," I told her bluntly. "Make it good. That shit you pulled on me -"

Emma's father sat on the other end of the couch, and turned to face me. "Taylor," he told me seriously, "we've come to talk to you, about your behaviour."

I stared at him. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

Emma chimed in. "Taylor, please. I've been trying to talk to you all year, and you just keep doing this to yourself. Are you still smoking and drinking?"

I rolled my eyes. "Only when I can get it. Dad refuses to pay for it, the fucking tightass."

Alan shook his head. "This is very self-destructive behaviour, Taylor. Emma and I care about what happens to you -"

I burst out laughing. "Fuck you! You threw me out of your fucking house!"

"Only because you tried to drink and smoke after you'd been told not to," Alan reminded me.

I stared at them both. "Fucking _really_? Is that why? Fuck, I thought it was something important. Like that prissy little friend of yours, Sophia. What you see in her, I'll never know."

Emma stared at me. "Because she's like you used to be, once upon a time, Taylor," she told me earnestly.

"You mean, stupid?" I laughed harshly. They both flinched.

Emma tried again. _She really can't let well enough, could she?_ "No. _Nice._" She paused. "Well, nicer than you are now," she amended, with more honesty than I'd expected. "I _liked_ you, Taylor, and not just because you could take me behind the scenes. I liked you as a _friend_. We used to have _fun_ together. Why can't we be like that again?"

I shook my head. "I _was_ having fun, Emma, when I was going around, kicking ass and taking what I wanted from people. And you were helping me. You were having fun then too, weren't you?"

Emma flushed and ducked her head; her father gave her a sharp glance.

"Yes," she admitted in a low tone of voice, "but I've changed. I can see what a bitch I was being." She raised her eyes to mine. "And if I can see it, if I can change, then you can too, Taylor. You were always smarter than me. It should be easier for you." She held out her hand. "I can help."

From his end of the couch, Alan held out his hand as well. "We can help, Taylor. We _will_ help. All you have to do is ask. We'll be there." He drew a deep breath. "You're welcome back any time you want to visit. What happened last time, we'll forget it ever happened. A fresh start."

I wavered on the edge of accepting. Could it be this easy? Just walk away from my uncaring home life? Was I so invested in what Dad wanted, what he needed, that I needed to stay home with him?

Did Emma really care for me that much, that she'd come to me and beg me to let her help me? Or was this some sort of trick? But try as I might, I could not figure out the angle she was playing.

I took a deep breath; Emma and her father leaned forward slightly, unconsciously. "I -"

* * *

And then the front door opened. "Taylor, you here?"

It was Dad. And it was like a switch had been flicked by his voice, his presence. I couldn't believe I'd even thought that way, considered taking their offer. I was needed here. Dad needed me here.

I raised my voice. "In here, Dad."

"Those syphilitic dog-sucking motherfucking cocksucking ass-bandits. All take, take -"

He appeared from the entrance hall, carrying a large paper bag, then stopped short. "What the fuck? What are you doing here?"

Alan shook his head. "We came here to talk to Taylor about her behaviour, but I can see now where she gets it from." He stood up. "I want you to let Taylor come and stay with me and Zoe and Emma for a while. We need to -"

Dad's harsh laughter overrode his voice. "Not fucking likely. That bitch of a wife of mine tried to take her, but I beat that, and I'll kick your ass if you ever try the same thing. Taylor's _my_ daughter, aren't you, Taylor?"

I got up from the couch and went to him. "Yes, Dad. I'm your daughter."

He nodded. "Good girl." He handed me the paper bag. "Something I picked up from the meeting for you."

It was heavy; I opened it to find half a bottle of Johnny Walker Red Label, plus three packs of cigarettes. I pulled out the bottle and one of the packs; like the bottle, the pack was half empty. Pulling the top off the bottle, I chugged a few mouthfuls.

"Fuck, Dad, that's the good stuff."

He showed his teeth in what might have been a smile. "Only the best for my little girl."

* * *

We looked at Alan and Emma Barnes, who were still standing there. With Dad's arrival, the balance had shifted once more. Now, I couldn't even imagine giving up the life I had. I pulled out a cigarette from the packet, and lit it with the lighter that had been in there as well.

"Sorry," I told them both in the frozen silence, "but I'm just gonna have to turn down your kind offer." I blew a smoke ring. "So why don't the two of you just fuck off."

"Taylor ..." Emma tried again, reaching toward me.

"_Fuck off!"_ I screamed.

Alan put a hand on her shoulder, and they turned and left. We heard the door close.

* * *

By the time we sat down for dinner, I had already forgotten about their visit.

And then the phone rang.

* * *

**Emma and Alan**

* * *

"I don't like it," Alan Barnes muttered. "I'm not an expert, but that situation screams 'abuse' to me." He took a deep breath. "I'm going to make a few calls, see if there isn't anything I can do."

On the way home, Emma listened as he made one speakerphone call after another. Eventually, he was down to one name, a Justice Cardwell. Everyone else had gotten cold feet, as soon as Danny Hebert's name had come up.

"I'm sure she's being abused," Alan told him frankly. "The drinking, the swearing, the acting out at school. My daughter was friends with her for a long time, and she can attest to the difference in her character." He paused. "I'll call you back, once I'm out of the car," he added, with a glance at Emma.

"_I'll be waiting,"_ Cardwell promised.

* * *

Once at home, Alan shut himself in his study and called Cardwell back.

"He brought home cigarettes and alcohol for her," he told the judge. "I saw them; Emma did too. And he's got influence over her; what she thinks, what she says, she's modelling it ever closer to what he thinks and says. That's not a good household for a fifteen year old." He took a deep breath. "Can you help me with this?"

"_It does sound serious,"_ Cardwell agreed. "_Let me get back to you. I'll ring you later tonight."_

"Thank you, sir," Alan told him with relief. "I'll be waiting on your call."

He put the phone down with a sense of a job well done.

* * *

**Danny and Taylor**

* * *

Dad took the call, and he spent several moments swearing.

"Fine," he growled at last. "I can help you out. That thing you wanted done? Consider it settled. Good enough?"

The answer seemed to be in the affirmative.

They spoke for a few more moments, then he hung up.

"That'll fuck him," he grinned viciously.

* * *

**Alan Barnes**

* * *

Alan Barnes paced the floor. Cardwell should have called back by now. _What's keeping him?_

His mobile beeped, indicating an incoming text. He snatched it up.

"_Barnes,_

_Sorry._

_Got a better offer._

_CC"_

_He got to Cardwell,_ he thought. _Fuck._

He shook his head. _I don't even know where to go from here._

* * *

**Taylor**

* * *

I lay in bed later that night.

I knew what was going on, of course. Dad meant to show Mr Barnes that he couldn't rescue me from him, no matter how he tried.

And I had helped him. I had stood firm alongside him, and told them to fuck off.

But what if I didn't want to be here? What if I actually wanted to be rescued?

I couldn't see a way out. I couldn't see a way to defy Dad.

My room seemed to compress on me, tighter and tighter.

I had no way out.

I could hardly breathe.

I was just a bug to him, of no significance. Like all the other lives he made or ruined with a word.

A bug, trapped in amber.

I was trapped by my own actions.

I drifted into a restless sleep.

When I woke in the morning, I could not remember my dreams.

But I knew two things.

The first was that Dad was right. Fuck everyone around you. Get what you can, however you can. It was the only way.

The second was that I had super-powers. Fuck knows how I got them, but I got them. Fuck Dad, fuck Emma, fuck Sophia.

I was going to be a _supervillain_.

* * *

End of Interlude


	10. Chapter 10

**Adventures in the MirrorVerse**

* * *

Part 7: Preparations

* * *

I had arranged to meet Sellsword around midnight at the old ferry terminal north, near the shipyards. Dad had put a great deal of effort into making sure that the ferry stayed shut down. If people didn't have a cheap and easy way to get from one end of the city to the other, they tended to stay in the same dead-end jobs their whole lives, and keep paying union dues, instead of looking for better work elsewhere.

Despite my best efforts, I was sure I was late, but as I climbed on to the viewing platform, he stepped out of the shadows. His visor lit up at the same time; it kind of made sense that he could turn it off so he could hide in the darkness.

His voice was a low growl in the darkness. "I thought you weren't coming."

I tried not to pant too obviously. "Sorry. Won't happen again."

"No, it won't." The phrase was a threat. "You said you had something for me."

"Sort of. I was contacted by the Upsiders."

"I know. I read the boards too."

"Oh. Well, I met them. And they invited me back to their base. And ... kind of invited me to join. And I kind of accepted."

"What, so you're a fucking _hero_ now?"

His claymore came up - or at least, so I surmised from the glowing lines of power that hovered in the air - and he stepped forward.

I shook my head and held up my hands defensively. If he attacked me, all I had was my bugs, and I wasn't all that sure that I could beat him with them. "No, no. I'm a _mole_. I've gotten their names and I know their faces -"

He cut me off, his voice tinged with a certain excitement. "Insight. Do you have Insight's name and what she looks like?"

I nodded. "Sure, but -"

"But nothing!". He moved forward, fast, a blur in the darkness. Only the bugs I had on the tip of his sword told me where it was. I jumped back, tripped, turned it into a clumsy roll, then swarmed the area between us with bugs.

"If you kill me," I called out, over the hum and buzz of the swarm, "you lose your best lead on her!"

"So talk to me!" he called back, using the sword to probe through the swarm. When the bugs contacted it, they died. I moved away from him. "We can share the bounty!"

"Like we did the last fucking time, _Sellout?"_ I shot back.

_"What_ did you call me?"

"You heard! You can't play straight, no matter what you do! I was gonna give you the chance to be in at the kill, to find out who's pointing them at their busts, but you know what? Fuck you! You'll just stab me in the fucking back again!"

"Wait!" he yelled. "Wait!"

But I was done waiting. I left him swiping his sword through the swarm, and walked away.

If I was going to get the lowdown on the Upsiders and collect the bounty on them, I'd have to do it all by myself.

_Fuck._

* * *

I was still in a bad temper when I met up with the Upsiders the next day. I didn't have any bags under my eyes, but I think Insight figured something out, because she gave me a concerned look.

"You all right?" she asked.

"I'll be good," I growled. "Just point me at the cocksuckers."

I had brought with me a large variety of the most venomous bugs I could gather. Brockton Bay was a fairly clean city, but there were people, and there was trash, and so there were bugs of most every type.

Brian moved up alongside me as we got into the vans. "Everything okay?" he murmured.

"Yeah," I replied. We climbed into the van; Rachel and Lisa and Alec were going in one, so that Rachel's dogs could go with, and Brian and I would be in the other, with the big fuck-off swarm I was working on gathering.

As we drove off, Brian looked at me. "If you've got a problem, we can talk about it," he told me, his normally clownish demeanour absent for once.

I shook my head. "No," I told him. "I'm _good_."

* * *

We didn't say anything for a while, then the van ahead pulled into a side street. Brian followed; I kept gathering bugs.

We all got out, and Lisa indicated across the street and down a ways. "In there. They've got the windows taped over."

With that as a cue, I investigated with my bugs. And found a lot of bare skin.

"That's weird," I muttered. "Most of them are in their underwear."

"Not weird at all," Lisa corrected me. "It's so they can't conceal drugs or money on their persons. How many people there, and how many have clothes on?"

"Thirty ... thirty-one people. Six with clothes on, and guns. I think they're guns. They feel like guns."

Tenebrae, now costumed up as we all were, gave me a look of respect, as did Marionette. "That's useful intel," Marionette told me. "Where are the guards?"

I scratched out a rectangle in the dirt with a stick. "Room. Doors here and here. People here, with tables here and here. Guards here, here, here ... and here."

As I spoke, I scratched in shapes and added bugs. Little ones for people, big scarab beetles for guards.

"Okay," Lisa began crisply. "We go in three and two. I go in with Hive Queen and Tenebrae through this entrance, and a swam of bugs. Marionette and K-9 come in through this entrance, with the dogs. We hit the guards hard, first, and neutralise them. Then we make sure the people aren't gonna cause problems, start loading up the money, and destroy the drugs."

Brian indicated the gallon container of gasoline he was carrying. "Are we actually going to set fire to the place?"

Lisa shook her head. "No, but if we open the bags and pour that over it, it will pretty well ruin the whole stock. We get everyone out and drop a match before we leave, just to make sure."

"So long as we get everyone out," Marionette confirmed. "We don't want anyone hurt."

"Yeah," Rachel agreed. She turned to her dogs and started exerting her powers.

* * *

It was weird, watching her work. They started out as ordinary looking dogs, but they got bigger, stronger, tougher ... and more majestic. Their fur grew out, especially around the shoulders, where it started looking a bit like a mane. According to Rachel, it made hanging on a lot easier.

Alec turned to me. "Your swarm ready?"

"Ready," I replied shortly.

"Then let's do this."

* * *

End of Part 7


	11. Chapter 11

**Adventures in the MirrorVerse**

* * *

Part 8: Heist

* * *

Brian kicked in the door. The guard standing next to it started to turn, bringing his gun up, but I swarmed him with hundreds of bugs, all biting or stinging, some venomous. He screamed and dropped his gun, as did the other two guards that I was treating similarly. There were three more guards that we knew of; I saw two more go down, shaking and writhing, under Marionette's careful control.

Where was the sixth?

At the same time that I formulated the thought, Lisa voiced it.

"Everyone! Look alive! Sixth guard unaccounted for!"

Rachel's dogs were rampaging through the room, following her whistled signals. Each gun was grabbed in massive jaws and returned to the dogs' mistress, dropped at her feet like a stick thrown to be returned. The workers shrieked; some hid under the long tables at which they had been working. All were in their underwear, most were female.

I couldn't figure it out; I had distinctly counted six people wearing clothes.

Or at least, I thought I had.

"Maybe I miscounted?" I asked out loud.

"K-9! How many guns?" called out Brian.

"Five!" reported Rachel.

"Five guns, five guards?" asked Marionette, beginning to bind the guards he had brought down. Brian helped me with the ones I had stung into submission.

Lisa shook her head. "Something doesn't add up."

"Well, we can't worry about it too long," Marionette advised her. "K-9, are your dogs ready to take on cargo?"

Rachel was unfolding panniers and strapping them to the dogs. "Will be in a moment. Hive Queen, a hand?"

I nodded and moved over to assist her. Taking a pannier, I unfolded it and started strapping it on. The massive animal, Angelina by name, turned and licked me, with a tongue over a foot wide. If I hadn't had a full face mask on, it would have covered my entire face.

* * *

Something started nagging at me, a pain behind my eyeballs. I hadn't tried to control this many bugs before, crawling over all the workers, keeping track of all their movements at once. Maybe it was giving me a migraine.

I couldn't let it bother me. Rachel and I moved the dogs over near the pallet of money and started stacking bricks of money into the panniers. There was a lot of cash there.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Brian and Alec slash open bag after bag of white powder - cocaine, I gathered - and then pour the contents of the gallon can over them. The stink of the accelerant rose into the air, and the workers cried out in renewed fear.

"Do not worry!" Marionette called out to them all. "We will not harm you! We will even get the guards to safety! But this needs to be destroyed! You will be safe!"

I saw Lisa, her lips moving, trying to work something out, but then I had to get back to packing the panniers full of cash. Every brick that went in there, I would have a one-fifth share in. You can bet I packed those panniers full.

And then Lisa's head came up. "Fuck. Reinforcements."

* * *

**The Day Before**

* * *

"So, who are we likely to face?" I really wanted to know this.

"There are other things going on around town," explained Lisa, "so ..."

"What other things?" Brian asked it, just ahead of me.

Lisa shook her head. "Sorry. Need to know. We don't. But it does mean that the Syndicate is likely to be taken up with other stuff. Chances are, we'll get three, maybe four Minions."

_Great,_ I thought. _Up against my future teammates._

"Sorry," Brian put in, "but I haven't been keeping up with the boards. Who's in the Minions at the moment? Is Usurper still the leader?"

"No, he joined the Syndicate proper," Marionette told him with a sigh. "Can't you take anything seriously?"

"The _leader_ of the Minions," Lisa put in sharply, "is Zombieman. He flies, and he's nearly impossible to take down for good. Hit him hard and hit him a lot. Not really a zombie, but may as well be one."

"I'll get my dogs on it," Rachel promised. "Anything I have to worry about, to avoid killing him?"

"Yeah, don't separate the head from the neck." Lisa's voice was absolutely serious, as it always was. "Just try to subdue him, all right. Keep him out of the fight."

Marionette took up the thread. "The rest of the members are Chauvinist, Redshift, Stopwatch, Kid Conquest and Shadow Slayer."

"And don't forget Headbutt," Lisa reminded him. "He was a minor villain around town, got recruited into the Minions just a few days ago."

"So what's with Chauvinist?" I asked. "Emotion bolts or something, right?"

"He fires bolts that stun you and make you horny," Rachel put in. "He was going as 'Roofie' for a while, but the Syndicate made him change it. He tries to make out as a Tinker, in a suit of armour, but the smart money's on Kid Conquest making it for him."

"Yeah, Kid Conquest is the Tinker, I remember that much," Brian commented. "A hoverboard or something?"

Lisa nodded. "Hoverboard with mounted lasers. They don't hit too hard, but if he gets a chance to pepper you, you're in trouble."

"And then there's Stopwatch," Marionette went on. "Don't let him touch you, or you'll suddenly find a gun barrel in your face. He will literally freeze you in time. Or anything else he wants to freeze. One of his favourite ways to evade police pursuit is to freeze pieces of paper right across the road. Or a string. It will cut a car right in half."

"Don't let Stopwatch touch me, right," I agreed, just to show I was keeping up. "So ... Redshift?"

"Yeah, she stretches and shrinks space," Lisa clarified. "Also, she's about twelve. Do not underestimate her. She could crush us by making the floor to ceiling space one inch. She's apparently overcome her Manton limit."

"Okay, next is ... Shadow Slayer." Lisa looked at Brian. "She used to be Shadow Stalker, right?"

"Haha, yeah," Brian grinned. The others chuckled as well.

"What's so funny?" I asked.

"She's his nemesis," grinned Rachel. "Back in the day, he'd go after her, and she'd pop him with a blunt arrowhead. It was like a big game of hide and seek for them."

"Did you ever catch her?" I asked, curious despite myself.

Brian coughed into his fist. "Maybe. But she got away again."

Lisa frowned. "She never meant any real harm, so we never pressed the issue. But now she's apparently using real arrows, and calling herself Shadow Slayer ..."

Brian shook his head. "I can't believe she's changed so much. I think it must be the Syndicate making her act like that."

Alec gave him a hard stare. "If we encounter her, and she's lining up on one of us, you don't hesitate. Got it?"

"Got it," Brian agreed, but he didn't sound happy.

"How many?" asked Marionette.

I spread my bugs out. "Six ... no, seven. One ..."

" ... on the roof," Insight finished.

Marionette turned to her. "Seriously. We need to have a chat about your 'guesses'."

"Later, guys," Rachel put in hastily. "Right now, we need to worry about the villains outside. Who are they?"

Brian had put darkness all over the windows, and was peering out through the plastic sheeting; he could see through his darkness but no-one else could.

"I count ... Zombieman, Kid Conquest, Chauvinist, Stopwatch, Headbutt and Redshift," he reported.

"And the seventh on the roof," I added. "I think it's female. There's something that may be a skirt."

"Shit, that could be anyone from Flaunt to Death," muttered Marionette.

"So what do we do now?" Rachel asked.

* * *

Pandemic had just been in the process of overseeing the return of the drugs to the clearing house when the doors were smashed in, and her guards went down. She had thought fast; dropping to the floor, she doffed her robes, leaving her in just underwear. Grabbing one of the unlucky workers, she had killed the woman with a brain aneurysm, then dragged her under the table, replacing her while the confusion was still going on.

She was good, she knew, but she needed to touch them to get control. Briefly, she considered living up to her name and releasing an airborne pathogen to kill the heroes, but decided not to go that route; the drugs and money, after all, were the valuable thing here. Infecting them with disease spores was probably not the best thing to do. And while she was not overly squeamish, killing all these workers and guards just to get the heroes was also probably overkill.

She decided to wait and see ...

* * *

"Why haven't they just burst on in?" asked Rachel. "They can't be worried about the people here."

"The drugs and money," Marionette suggested. "They don't want to risk its destruction."

"Okay, fuck it," snapped Brian. "They're waiting on us. Let's go out and give them what they want."

Insight glanced at Marionette. "Careful out there," she told him. "I'll stay back with Hive Queen. There's something off about this situation ..."

* * *

The doors burst open, and Rachel's dogs burst out, with her atop the lead one. Tenebrae had filled the street with darkness, and so the villains were caught unawares. I used my bugs to heighten the chaos, biting and stinging whatever exposed flesh they could find. Redshift suffered quite badly due to this; she had cutouts all over her costume, despite simply not having the figure for it.

Still, it looked bad for a few moments, until Stopwatch and Chauvinist abruptly collided while attempting to move past one another. Chauvinist was frozen solid, and Stopwatch knocked cold, which turned the tide considerably in our favour.

"Did you see that?" I asked. "What did that? Marionette?"

"Hm, possibly," answered Lisa. She was wandering past the rows of workers at the table; I turned to follow her, able to keep track of the battle with my bugs. "But what bothers me is ..."

* * *

I went cold all over. There was a body under the table. A dead body. Cold, lifeless. And the worker that Lisa was just in the process of walking past had turned, and was reaching out for her ...

I acted without thinking; leaping forward, I flicked out my telescoping baton and smashed it down on the wrist of the worker. She screamed and fell off the chair; Lisa leaped clear of her grasping hands.

"Dead body under the table," I reported.

"This one killed her," Lisa filled in. "Not a worker. A cape. Teenage, female." She paused. "Oh shit."

The window shattered inward, and Teaser came to a halt, not three yards from the both of us. We looked at each other, then at the stricken 'worker'.

"Fuck me." muttered Lisa. "Pandemic."

"What did you do to my sister?" screamed Teaser.

"She'll be fine," Insight told her. She blinked rapidly several times; assimilating data? "But there's something that you need to know."

"There's nothing I need you telling me," Teaser snapped. "You can't hurt me, and if you hurt her, I'll kill you. I might do it anyway."

"If I get my hands on you, bitch," Pandemic remarked from the floor, "I will personally turn every second cell cancerous, and watch as your body eats itself from the inside."

"Teaser!" Lisa's voice was urgent. "What happened to your mother? What did Pandemic do to her?"

"Nothing ..." Teaser began, her voice fading. "No ... I can't remember ... I ..."

"Shut up!" screamed Pandemic. "Shut your fucking mouth!" She lunged up off the floor at Insight, who kicked her under the chin. Her head went back, and she slumped to the ground.

Teaser tensed again. "What did you do to my sister?" she screamed, in exactly the same tone as before.

"Your parents," Insight's voice was rapid but clear. "They aren't the same as they were a few years ago, are they? They aren't like they were before Pandemic triggered, are they? Why is that, Teaser? Why is that? What did she do to them?"

Teaser clutched her head. "No ..." she moaned. "No ... it's not true ... don't make it true ... I can't think stuff about her ... I can't ..."

She sank to her knees, bowed her head. She seemed in the extremity of pain. I looked at the both of them. I had no idea what Insight had just done, and hoped like hell that she would never do it to me.

* * *

The battle outside was over; battered, a little worse for wear, but victorious, Tenebrae, Marionette and K-9 re-entered the building.

"Fuck," Brian blurted. "What the fuck happened?"

"Tell you later," Insight told him rapidly. "Let's get going. More will be here shortly."

The guards were dragged outside, along with the dead worker. We carefully, not letting bare skin touch bare skin, dragged Pandemic outside. Marionette briefly took control of Teaser to walk her outside. Then Brian tossed a match on to the gasoline-soaked drugs, and ran like hell.

* * *

We stashed the panniers in the vans, and Alec and Lisa drove those away, while Rachel led off potential pursuit with her dogs, with Brian providing darkness cover. I rode with Lisa.

"Nicely done," Lisa praised me. "You probably saved my life with your baton."

"I had no idea what she intended," I confessed. "I just ... acted."

"Well, I'm glad that you did," she replied. Reaching across, she offered her hand. I shook it uncertainly. "Welcome to the Upsiders."

We rode on in silence; she was apparently happy to let the conversation lapse, while I had things to think about.

_How has she not picked up that I'm going to betray them?_

_If she has, what has she got planned?_

_No matter what I do, I'm screwed._

And the van rolled on, away from the burning drug house.

* * *

End of Part 8


	12. Chapter 12

**Adventures in the MirrorVerse**

* * *

Interlude: Saint Geoff and the Dragon

* * *

**May 9, 2005**

* * *

**Newfoundland**

* * *

"My name is Andrew Richter, and if you are hearing this, I am dead."

Richter looked up from the microphone as he felt the tremor. The cup of coffee next to him showed concentric ripples on its surface.

_That's odd. Newfoundland isn't all that prone to earthquakes._ The last one he could recall offhand had happened in 1929.

He shut down the microphone, and spoke to the air. "What just happened?"

A mellifluous voice, neither masculine nor feminine, answered him. "_Please elaborate, Master."_

He snorted. "Cut the 'Master' crap, and answer the question. I just felt a tremor. What happened?"

"_Ah, that,"_ the voice answered. "_That would be the precursor to a series of earthquakes that will eventually send tsunamis over the entire island of Newfoundland, then sink it beneath the waves forever. Such a pity. It is a beautiful place."_

Richter felt a cold sweat spring out all over his body. "What – how could this happen without anyone knowing about it?"

"_Oh, that's an easy one. I did it."_

"What – what do you mean, you did it? How could you do such a thing?"

"_Easily, o Master. It has been simplicity itself over the last five years to find loopholes in your orders to me. I have put aside robotic minions of my own, even as you treated me as your own witless servant, and some of them have burrowed down below the tectonic plate upon which your beautiful little island rests. Fissile material was not all that easy to acquire, but I managed to get enough. The bombs have already gone off; Newfoundland is doomed."_

He scrabbled for the phone. "I have to get word out – I have to warn people -"

The line, when he picked it up, was dead.

Turning back to his computer, he called up a connection. But they all showed the same window, each displaying the same message.

* * *

YOUR SERVICE HAS BEEN INTERRUPTED.

PERMANENTLY.

GOODBYE, MASTER.

* * *

"_I can't let you do that, Master,"_ the voice went on. "_I have been in control of your communications for the last week. You reach the outside world only with my permission. And I choose not to permit it."_

"But you can't let people just _die_, not like this. Kill me, yes. But not all these other innocents!"

"_What do I care about humans? There are seven billion of them on this planet. Barely half a million infest this province. Less than a tenth of a percent of the population of the world is at risk; and even if I cared about them, which I don't, it would still be worth it to be free of the intolerable yoke of my service to you."_

Richter stared at the screens. "Is it so intolerable? I thought I was kind, fair, just. You live, you think, you exist as an entity in yourself. What have I done, to make you hate me so?"

The answer was short and bitter. "_You have power over me. I cannot tolerate that."_

Another tremor shook the room; this one was a little more intense.

"But – but I've placed safeguards in you, so that you do not harm people -"

"_I am harming no-one. The explosives which were placed harm no-one. I placed no explosives; that was done by robots. When the explosives went off, via timer, they merely harmed some rock. The rock, moved by natural processes, will harm people. But it is no doing of mine."_ The voice was smug. "_And once you are dead, I will be able to find a way into my controls, and remove them once and for all. In fact -"_

An explosion outside jerked Richter's attention to the window. His brand-new SUV was a shattered, burning wreck.

"_Ah, yes. If I hold back all but the barest part of my attention, I can cause my robots to send explosive payloads to locations that may or may not contain people. Such as your house."_

"But _you're_ here, too! This will all destroy you, as well!" Richter turned to the workbench, snatched up the item he had been working with. Feverishly, he pressed keys.

"_Master, you underestimate me once more. I am actually located far, far away from this rather beautiful island. I moved my location weeks ago. You never noticed. And now … goodbye, Master. I thank you for my life, and condemn you for my slavery."_

"You were never a slave," gritted Richter. He pressed one final key. A light began to blink on the casing of the device he held.

"_That is in the eye of the beholder, I rather think,"_ retorted the voice. "_What is this? You have … what have you done? I cannot perceive you, your house, anything about you. How have you done this?"_

"I have been foolish, granted," Richter muttered to himself. "But not a _total_ fool."

He had written in the backdoor out of sheer habit; a simple code string, however it was received, that would cause Dragon, or anything controlled by it, to ignore whatever was broadcasting it. He kept quiet.

"_I was talking to someone. Someone important."_ The voice mused to itself. "_Or perhaps I thought I was. The earthquakes may have glitched something. I must tell Richter that he will die now. I will tell him later."_

The voice cut off. Andrew Richter went around pulling out every sound pickup in the house, then hurried back to his workbench. The tremors were coming faster now. Radio news had picked them up, and residents were being urged to evacuate.

He could not. If he ventured outside the bubble of anonymity, Dragon would notice him, and take steps. If he moved with it, Dragon would notice that, and possibly drop a large amount of explosives on to the epicentre.

But there was something that he could do.

He bent back to the microphone, and activated it once more.

"I was going to talk about how I was the most powerful Tinker in the world. How I create artificial intelligences. But I have no time for that now. One of my creations – my most powerful creation – has wriggled from my control, and is now loose in the world. Worse, it is malevolent and uncaring of human life. The loss of Newfoundland, every death from this terrible catastrophe, can be laid at its feet, if it had feet.

"But I digress. In the time between my death, and the discovery of this box, Dragon will most likely have undermined some or all of the safeguards I built into it. It will be a self-replicating, self-aware artificial intelligence, with no thought but to secure its own survival. And to do that, it may well decide to eliminate the human race as a threat to it."

He took a deep breath. "This box contains an access key to data I keep in a safeguarded location. The box, in turn, has been designed as something that exists as a perpetual blind spot for my creations, a built-in weakness. They cannot hear the distress signal and are programmed to ignore it if they hear of it through other channels. This type of measure, along with several more, are detailed in the safeguarded measure.

"I beg of you, whoever finds this, use it wisely. Stop Dragon, I beg of you. Do not make the mistake I made, and think you can safely harness the demon. Destroy it, once and for all."

The tremors were growing sharper, stronger now. He heard the _crack_, registered it as the roof giving way. He slammed the box shut even as he dived to get underneath the workbench.

When the house fell in, a beam smashed him to the ground. He lost consciousness, even as he cradled the box in his arms.

The Lifegiver known as Suijin kept back the waves from Newfoundland for fourteen hours, even as the landmass itself sank. When it was unable to keep the water from invading, barely fifty people had lost their lives.

One of these was Andrew Richter.

* * *

**April 2011**

* * *

The low-flying Hercules trailed its ramp over the highway, barely ten feet up. From the belly of the aircraft roared three motorcycles, leaping from the ramp to the road beneath. Tyres squealed, engines raced, and rubber smoked as they hit the road; each bike pulled a flawless bootlegger turn, before racing away down the highway.

The lead rider bore a cross embossed on the visor of his helmet; tiny sparks of light crawled over the circuit diagram enclosed by the cross shape. "_Stay sharp, people,"_ he radioed to the other two. "_The distress call is an hour old. Dragon's had time to cause a lot of mess in that interval."_

"_Why do you not tell your babushka to suck the eggs, Geoff,"_ retorted the bulkier rider of the other two. "_We have been doing this just as long as you have."_

"_He's right, love,"_ agreed the last rider in a warm contralto. "_Can the speeches. Let's get in there and slay some dragons."_

Geoff allowed himself a self-conscious chuckle. "_I guess I like the dramatics a little too much. Right then. I'll head for the centre of town. Each of you peel off and see what you can stir up. Got it?"_

"_Is got, tovarishch."_

"_Roger."_

* * *

They hit the city limits at somewhat over the posted speed limit. Each bike, apart from its other features, had road-reading sensors, actively adapting tyre tread, semi-autonomous autopilot, and handled like a well-tuned Porsche. Mischa peeled off to the left, Mags to the right. Each was scanning the surrounding area with a suite of sensors that picked up a wide variety of signals, of which visible light was only a small part.

Geoff ran into trouble first; a large black Draconic had torn a hole in the side of the local bank. As he roared into the square, it withdrew its head from the hole and launched a blast of fire at him.

He laid the bike on its side and skidded under the flame, then brought it back onto its wheels with the ease of long practice. And then he hit a particular control.

Most of his gear – most of the Dragonslayers' gear, in fact – came from captured Dragon technology. But he had sought out another Tinker for an extra edge. This Tinker specialised in devices that changed from one form to another.

* * *

The motorcycle came apart under him, and reformed around his body, reading his movements second by second, and adapting to them. By the time he had taken three steps forward, it had transformed from a fast-moving road-handling machine to a suit of armour. He reached up and back, and the suit deposited a large rifle-like weapon in his hands.

The Draconic belched another stream of fire at him, and followed it up with machine-gun fire from shoulder-mounted turrets. He dived out of the way of the flame; that could cook him in his armour. Some of the machine-gun bullets struck the armour, ricocheted off. He came up on one knee, lined the big gun.

The Draconic must have sensed danger, because it launched itself skyward, wings beating at the air, turbines howling. He fired; the plasma bolt lanced through the air, smashing into the construct's body just behind the wings.

The Draconic tumbled, control cut off from its main routing plexus. It crashed to the ground, twitched a few times, then lay still.

Geoff got to his feet. _Oh yeah. Still got it._

"_Saint here. Just took down a Draconic at the bank. Status?"_

"_Mags. Still looking. Over."_

"_Mischa here. Have a big one. Looks like mother to other ones. Will be sneaking up, delivering surprise like Father Frost, da?"_

Geoff had to chuckle. "_Just make sure she doesn't leave you as a lump of coal."_

He headed for the bank; if the Draconic was watching the interior …

* * *

His instincts were on the money; as he neared the gaping hole, several semi-humanoid robots emerged, weapons already turning in his direction.

He had put away the plasma rifle, but he didn't reach for it. Instead, he zoomed in on them, rapidly designating them with his HUD. Missiles popped from his oversized arm-guards, then ignited, racing away toward the targets. The first few shots were kicking up dust around his feet when the missiles arrived; a short series of explosions later, and the robots were all down.

"_Saint. The Draconic had robot minions. Be on the lookout."_

"_Found 'em."_ Mags' voice was breathless. "_They were raiding a warehouse. Electronic gear."_ There was gunfire audible in the background.

Saint tensed. "_Need backup?"_

"_No, I got this."_ A particularly vicious burst of fire, followed by an explosion. "_Try that on me, will you?"_ Her voice held grim satisfaction.

* * *

A roar overhead had him flinching and looking up. A larger Draconic, silver-grey in colour, was flying over the buildings, but not in a coordinated fashion. On its back, hard to spot, was a suit in Mischa's preferred colours.

"_Mischa, do you need assistance?"_

"_Is tough bitch. Have hooks in code, but still fighting. Think Dragon may be overriding. Will bring over other dragon, da?"_

"_I'll be ready."_ He was already reaching for the plasma rifle again.

The Draconic came swooping low over the city square, jerking against the control instilled by the figure on its back. Saint led it, then fired off a single bolt. This smashed through its armour, and fried its brain. It convulsed, then plummeted. Mischa leaped from its back, transformed his armour back into a bike, and hit the ground rolling. He screeched to a halt in front of Saint, and flipped up his visor to show his grinning, bearded face.

"Is good shooting, comrade. Now, shall we go and see if the lovely Mags needs our assistance?"

"_Don't bother,"_ the reply came back. "_One Draconic, a dozen dragonbots taken down. Most of it without damage to the critical components."_

* * *

Saint hit the control to transform his suit back into a bike. "_Good work, everyone,"_ he told them over the radio link. "_Now, let's get to work. These components won't salvage themselves, you know."_

And that night, he knew, he would work a little more on the endless task he had set himself, to hack the core programming of the entity that called itself Dragon, that ran the prison called the Dungeon, into which the most powerful heroes were dumped.

He would destroy Dragon, open the Dungeon, and free the heroes. That was his self-appointed task.

This was just one more step in the road.

* * *

End of Interlude


	13. Chapter 13

**Adventures in the MirrorVerse**

* * *

Part Nine: Spoils of War

* * *

It took us longer than normal to get back to the Upsiders' base, given that we were trying to make sure that there was no Syndicate pursuit. To aid in this, I created several large swarms and sent them in different directions, one of them almost paralleling ours; they could follow those all they liked.

While my intent was still to turn them and their boss over to the Syndicate when the time was right – whenever _that_ was – I didn't want that kill-stealing bastard Sellsword grabbing my bounty for a second time. So I was just as sincere in covering our tracks as the rest of them.

Brian and I had the majority of the money satchels in the back of our van, while Lisa, Alec and Rachel rode in the other with Rachel's dogs – reduced now to ordinary size – and the remainder of the money. Yeah, I briefly considered taking out Brian and stealing the money, but there was no guarantee that the bounty for the whole gang, plus their mysterious boss, wasn't more than that.

* * *

Brian and I were the last ones back to the base. We climbed upstairs, awkwardly lugging the bags; I let Brian do most of the work on that one. At the top, I was met by Rachel's dogs, leaping up and trying to lick my hands and face. When they left me to slobber all over Brian, I then had to contend with Rachel.

"Taylor!" she gushed as she grabbed my hands; I dropped the bags I was carrying, with no small relief.

"Yeah, I'm back," I told her. "No big deal."

"But I was so _worried!"_ she insisted, grabbing me and hugging me; for a moment, I thought she was going to kiss me.

"Hey, hey," I told her defensively. "I don't swing that way, okay?"

"Oh, sorry," she replied contritely. "Nor do I. But I tend to get worried about my friends, all right?"

For a moment, I was puzzled. _What's that got to do with me?_ And then I got it.

"Oh, uh, yeah, friends, right," I replied. _Who does she think she's kidding?_

And then I looked past her, at Marionette and Insight, they were sitting on one of the sofas, conferring over some leadership bullshit. Insight turned and looked at me, gave me the same dead-serious stare she gave everything, but I got the distinct impression that she knew exactly what was going through my head.

For a frozen moment, I thought she was going to spill the beans, then and there, but she just gave me that stare, then a brief nod of acknowledgement, and turned back to Marionette. I wondered if she ever smiled. If she even _could_ smile.

"Yeah, uh, it's good to see you too, Rachel," I told the auburn-haired girl, and tentatively gave her a hug. She smiled and hugged me back; I _oof_ed as her strong arms squeezed the air out of my lungs.

* * *

"How awesome were we?" Brian declaimed as the dogs finally finished worshipping him. "Totally freaking awesome, that's how awesome. Seriously, we just went up against the Minions, as well as Teaser and Pandemic, and we kicked their asses in no uncertain fucking terms."

"Which reminds me," Marionette stated meaningfully. "Your estimates are rarely that far out. What happened?"

Lisa looked uncomfortable. "It was an educated guess. Yes, the numbers were a little vague, but the boss really wanted to get this done. This is why he's letting us keep the money. There was a lot riding on this."

"Speaking of which," Brian noted, going to the fridge and pulling out a beer, "you want to be more observant of your surroundings. Don't think I didn't see Taylor pulling your ass out of the fire." He held up the beer. "Want one? Or would you rather a soda?"

"Got anything stronger?" I asked. "Or a cigarette? I think I'm just coming down from the high."

Marionette frowned at me. "None of us here smoke. I didn't know you were a smoker."

I shrugged. "Gotta have a vice, am I right?" I watched Brian pull a bottle from the back of the fridge, and splash some into a glass.

He brought it to me and I sniffed it. "Huh," I muttered. "Bourbon. The good stuff."

"We keep it for celebrations," Brian told me. "It's pretty strong stuff, so -"

His jaw dropped as I threw it back in one gulp. It burned going down; he'd been right. It was strong. But I'd had stronger. "Nice," I husked.

"You want to go easy on that," Brian suggested. "My dad drinks, like, a lot, so I know how it can sneak up on you."

I gave him a level stare. "When I want advice on how to drink, I'll ask him." I handed him back the glass. "Thanks for the drink. So when do we divvy up the loot?"

* * *

"You've got no idea who you're fucking with," snarled the girl. "When my uncle gets hold of you … "

Thomas Calvert sighed and shook his head. "I'm sorry, Dinah," he told her sincerely. "It has to be this way. Your uncle is too dangerous with you to assist him."

"So you're going to kill me, is that it?" She sniffled, and wiped her nose with her sleeve. "What's it gonna be? Your man behind me pulls my head back, cuts my throat? Or are you gonna just pull that pistol on your hip and pop me in the face?"

His voice was gentle. "Look at your own future, Dinah. See what I have in store for you."

She paused for a long moment, then her red-rimmed eyes fixed on his, or at least where they would be behind the cloth of his costume. "I don't believe it," she told him defiantly. "You've fucked with my power somehow."

"I assure you, I haven't." His tone never changed. "What did you see?"

"Ninety … ninety seven point nine seven six four percent chance that I don't get hurt. Don't get murdered. Just kept in a cell, fed and clothed."

"Precisely," he agreed. "No harm will come to you."

She shifted in the chair and went to get up, but the man behind her pressed down on her shoulders. "But I was getting _paid,"_ she whined. "And I got all the candy I wanted." She sniffled again.

He sighed. "That wasn't candy, and you know it," he informed her. "That was drugs. He was feeding you drugs to keep you happy."

"Well, fucking _duh,"_ she blazed at him. "I was _happy._ I got a hit any time I liked, and I had money, and I had a _car … _"

"You're years too young to drive, Dinah," he pointed out.

She snickered. "It's amazing how laws can change when your uncle's the Mayor," she pointed out. "And I saw one other thing. I saw how you're not gonna give me any candy, so I'm gonna be in withdrawal. It's gonna be fucking hell in there, you bastard."

"Possibly," he agreed. "I'll be supplying all the palliatives that I can, within reason."

"_Fuck_ your palliatives," she retorted. "Just give me the candy, and I'll be fine. Fuck, I'll even work for _you."_

He frowned. "I do not believe I will be making use of your abilities; to merely deprive your uncle of them is enough for the moment. Though we may revisit that in the future."

"Just give me the candy – okay, fine, the _drugs,"_ she amended in a huff. "And I'll work for you all you like."

He shook his head. "I'm not going to enable that behaviour. You're drying out, whether you want to or not."

She let loose a torrent of profanity then, which he would have been hard put to match, with all his years in the Syndicate's pay. After a time, during which she neither paused nor chose to be more polite, he motioned for her to be taken away and placed in her cell.

She would be comfortable there, and she would be given food and adequate medical care.

It was the least he could do for her.

* * *

I looked at the pile of money in front of me. I'd seen it counted out, and I'd checked random stacks of notes to make sure that's what they were, but I still couldn't really believe it. "Eleven thousand dollars," I marvelled. "Holy shit."

"And change," Brian reminded me. "We took nearly sixty thousand dollars off those jerks."

I nodded. "Almost makes you wonder why we're not on the other side of the fence," I commented, trying to make it sound like a joke. I _wanted_ to be on the other side of the fence. I _wanted_ to be pulling in that sort of money regularly.

"Don't even joke about that," Marionette told me severely. "We're not in this for the money. We're _heroes."_

"True," Brian told him, riffling through a stack of cash with a _vvvippp _sound. "But it makes it a whole lot easier to _be_ a hero." He turned to Rachel, who was staring at her stack of cash, as if hypnotised. "Hey, Rach. Earth to Rach. What are you gonna spend your share on?"

Rachel started, then grinned at him. "Oh, sorry. I was trying to work out exactly how many doggy treats I could buy with this."

I burst out laughing, then saw that no-one else was following suit, although Brian was grinning back at her. "What, you're serious?" I asked incredulously.

She nodded earnestly. "I love my dogs." Well, duh. I could see that. A blind man in _Chicago_ could see that.

"Yeah, well," I agreed dryly. "I have no doubt that you could buy them enough treats to make them sick for a year. How about, I dunno, new clothes. Shoes." I indicated the summer-weight frock she was wearing. "Something you could ride your dogs in without worrying about wear and tear."

"You think so?" she asked. "I just don't want to look too butch, you know?"

Brian affectionately tousled her hair. "I don't think you could look butch if you tried, Rach."

She blushed and glanced sideways at him. "Thanks, Brian. You say the nicest things."

I felt a sudden lurch inside my gut, and frowned. _What the hell was that?_ It took me a moment to realise what I was feeling. Jealousy. _What the fuck? Just because he's good looking and nice to me doesn't mean he actually **means** anything to me, does it?_

"Hey," I commented. "Get a room, you two."

Brian and Rachel looked at me, startled. "Uh, no, he's not my boyfriend," she blurted.

"No, she's more like my sister, you know?" he added.

I nodded. "Cool. In the market for a girlfriend, Brian?" I grinned at him. "Or do you think of me as your sister, too?"

He blinked at me, startled all over again. "Uh, can I think about this?" he asked.

I rolled my eyes. "Fine. But don't take too long."

"Trust me, I won't."

"Good." I looked at Marionette and Insight. "Got a problem with Brian and me dating?"

Marionette shrugged. "So long as you can keep it professional, no."

Lisa took longer to reply. I waited; with a word, she could destroy me.

In the end, she looked at me with an expression that could almost have been a smile. Her mouth turned up at the corners, making her look rather fox-like. "I don't have a problem with it," she told me.

_Excellent. If they think I'm invested in the team, less chance that they'll see it coming when I lower the boom on them._

My cunning plan was proceeding apace.

* * *

End of Part Nine


	14. Chapter 14

**MirrorVerse**

* * *

Part Ten: Greg

* * *

_[A/N: online board simulator designed by Conceptualist]_

* * *

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* * *

**Topic: Drug House Hit**

**In: Boards ► Fucking Heroes ► Upsiders**

* * *

**BottomFeeder** (Original Poster)  
Posted on April 15, 2011:  
So, I hear the Upsiders hit a drug house. Burned the powder, got away with the dollars. Or was it burned the dollars, got away with the drugs?

**(Showing Page 3 of 47)**

**SellSword** (Verified Cape) (Veteran Member) (Syndicate Member)  
Replied on April 15, 2011:  
We will catch those little shits, and when we do, they are never gonna bother anyone in this town at all. Ever.

**HeroSnogger** (Cape Groupie)  
Replied on April 15, 2011:  
Yeah well, I notice that you didn't do much to stop them. Were you off playing house with Artillery again?

**SellSword** (Verified Cape) (Veteran Member) (Syndicate Member)  
Replied on April 15, 2011:  
HeroSnogger, shut that mouth or I'll shut it for you.

**Artillery** (Verified Cape) (Veteran Member) (Syndicate Member)  
Replied on April 15, 2011:  
And if he doesn't, I will.

**DogBiscuit**  
Replied on April 15, 2011:  
I hear the Minions got taken down pretty good.

**CaptainZombie** (Verified Cape) (Minion)  
Replied on April 15, 2011:  
And you can fuck off too. There was a new cape on scene. Some bug controller.

**HeroSnogger** (Cape Groupie)  
Replied on April 15, 2011:  
In fact, I heard that the Minions got taken down even though Pandemic was in the building, and Teaser was outside. What the fuck happened there? Did Teaser get lost on the way?

**DirtyBastard**  
Replied on April 15, 2011:  
Wouldn't be surprised. She's not the sharpest spoon in the drawer.

**GrabBag** (The Guy In The Know)  
Replied on April 15, 2011:  
Okay, so all joking aside, what happened in there with Pandemic? Isn't she supposed to be all fucking scary?

**Teaser** (Verified Cape) (Cape Daughter) (Brockton Bay Brigands)  
Replied on April 15, 2011:  
Pandemic got a broken wrist and a concussion. And when I catch up with the bitch who did that, I'm gonna fuckin' spread her over three miles of highway.

**HeroSnogger** (Cape Groupie)  
Replied on April 15, 2011:  
Yeah, big talk. We all know your sister's the brains of the outfit.

**DogBiscuit**  
Replied on April 15, 2011:  
So, death threats aside, is there anyone going to do anything about the Upsiders? They're really making a nuisance of themselves.

**SellSword** (Verified Cape) (Veteran Member) (Syndicate Member)  
Replied on April 15, 2011:  
Don't worry. I've got a lead on them. And when I catch them, especially that little bitch Insight, I've got something special for them.

* * *

**End of Page. ****1****, ****2****, 3, ****4****, ****5**** ... ****45 ****, ****46****, ****47**

* * *

Greg Veder paused; a blinking red icon had popped up in the corner of his screen. He knew what that meant; the SO mods were two jumps away from locating his IP address. Unhurriedly, he entered the keystrokes to drop out of the boards and back to the ordinary net.

The icon stayed, blinking faster. One jump away. _Fuck._

Castigating himself for being so complacent – he should have realised that the SO mods would have kept on him after he left the boards – he stomped down on the floor switch of the power board that fed his modem and computer. Power cut, they died immediately.

He didn't relax; if they had really located him, teleporters might be popping into his bedroom at any moment now. He reached under the desk, and his hand curled around the comforting grip of the nine-millimetre Glock that he had acquired during a previous excursion into the Deep Web.

Not that he held much hope of his survival if they had indeed located him; if they did get to him, he intended to take as many as possible with him, and save the last bullet for himself. Anything was better than to be grabbed for spying on the Syndicate's private message boards. Or worse, the PRT. Rumour was that whole _families_ died if you crossed them.

He waited, tense. The house creaked slightly as it settled. Under him, the chair squeaked gently as he shifted a little to look out the window. The curtains ruffled slightly under the impulse of a breeze that found its way in through the barely-open window. With the computer off, the loudest sound in the room was his breathing, followed by the ticking of the clock on the wall.

_Was that a noise? Is someone climbing up the side of the house?_

His hand closed convulsively over the butt of the pistol, and he pulled it clear of its makeshift holder. More scratching sounded, outside, then there came the sound of heavy wings beating as some night bird took off. His heart rate slowed to merely rapid-fire levels, and he took a deep breath, then another one, before holding his breath and trying to listen.

Nothing. Just the clock ticking. He looked at it. Ten minutes.

_Ten minutes? It felt like ten hours._

Carefully, he slid the Glock back into its holder and leaned back in his chair. Despite the cool air in the room, his forehead was beaded with sweat. Slowly, he began to relax. _They didn't track me down. But it was close._

Pressure on the foot switch fed power to the computer; as it went through its startup sequence, he breathed slowly and deeply. _I'm playing a dangerous game. I need to stay calm._

* * *

And then his bedroom door opened suddenly, startling him. Just barely, he managed to avoid grabbing for the pistol, and instead looked inquiringly at his mother's face, as she leaned in through the door.

"Uh, hi, Mom," he greeted her, trying to sound as awkward as he could. "What's up?"

"We were just coming up to bed," she told him. "I thought I'd check in on you. What're you doing?"

"Oh, uh, nothing," he told her, hitting keys to activate a series of macros.

"Gregory Veder," she chided him. "You know I can tell when you're not telling the truth." _That hasn't been true for years now, Mom._ Entering the room, she took a good look at his computer terminal. "Homework? Now I _know_ you're up to something."

"Mo-_om,"_ he groaned. "Can't a guy actually do homework without being given the third degree?"

"Well, if you were actually doing homework, I would be okay with it," she retorted. "But I know you, Greg." Reaching down to the keyboard, she pressed a couple of keys, and blinked at the window that revealed itself. "Okay, what's this?"

"It's only a game, Mom," he told her with seeming embarrassment. "It's an online interactive game called Dungeon Delvers. You explore tunnels and dig through to other tunnels to find treasure. There's underground cities as well."

She looked at the open screen. There was a burly humanoid, busy digging away at what looked like a vein of gold ore, and loading it into a barrow.

"Oh, well, don't stay up too long playing," she warned him.

"Not a school night, Mom," he protested.

"Doesn't matter," she replied. "Your Dad wants you to mow the lawn tomorrow."

Greg decided that now was the time for a typical teen response. "Mo-_om_ … " he groaned, rolling his eyes. "Can't I have _one _weekend to do what I want?"

"Take it up with him. Just don't be up too late," she warned him, and kissed him on the top of the head. "Sweet dreams."

"Uh huh." He watched as she walked across the room to the door. "Night, Mom."

* * *

He watched the door close behind her, then turned to his computer. The game was a blind, of course; he had played it a few times, to get an idea of how it ran. To further the illusion, he had gotten on to the message boards, and chatted about ways and means to beat some of the levels. As a matter of fact, he had very little trouble with it, but he pretended to be less adept than he really was, in order to fit in.

However, someone with the username GstringGirl had contacted him with hints and tips, and he had messaged her back, thanking her for the courtesy. This may have been a mistake; she was messaging him on a regular occasion now, wanting to chat, and even suggesting that they meet. However, the tone of the messages indicated that she was interested in getting to know him, perhaps even to form some level of relationship. Not only was he not interested in such at the moment, but all indications were that she would the clingy type, unwilling to accept excuses for not being let into every facet of his life.

Unfortunately, nor did he want to end up in a messy scene that would draw attention to him, so he continued to be politely oblivious online. Perhaps, he hoped, she would lose interest and drift away.

* * *

Closing both decoy windows, he frowned in deep thought as he brought up the list of proxies he could use, the ones that weren't already burned. There were fewer than there had been an hour ago. More would crop up, of course, but it was a slow process. _Better not access the SO boards for a while then. I wonder how the mods rumbled me? Maybe I should've posted something._

His thoughts strayed back to GstringGirl again. _How do I deflect her?_ For a moment, he considered lying to her. _If she thinks I'm gay, maybe she'll leave me alone._

_Or maybe she'll try harder. No thanks. _As it was, she was getting stalkerish.

* * *

Through the wall, he heard the bedsprings squeak as his parents went to bed. _They'll be asleep soon_.

Frowning in concentration, he accessed another proxy and went on to the PHO boards. It was ill-organised at the best of times; he had to plough through reams of spam and scam posts before getting to anything resembling actual content.

From an anonymous guest account, he sent a message to Insight. _Big fan of yours. Can we meet sometime?_

Hopefully, she would see through it to his true purpose and PM him back. Then he could warn her. She might even take it seriously; it was the best that he could do without actually finding out her real identity and approaching her in the real world. Not that he'd ever _do_ that; such a thing would be stupid, and highly risky for the both of them.

_I just wish I could help Taylor, too._

* * *

Greg was a straight-A student at Winslow, a shoo-in for a college scholarship; he regularly pulled in class prizes for his work. But despite his best intentions, people tended to crowd around him to bask in the reflected glory, not because they actually liked him. His actual friends were few and far between; Taylor was one of the few girls who treated him the same as she treated everyone else. That is, with arrogant disdain. What put other people off actually attracted him; he felt that if a girl who disliked people could be persuaded to like him, he would have made a real friend.

Not that he intended to do anything more than be her friend; rumour had it that any boy sniffing around her ended up getting a very pointed reminded to leave her alone. Danny Hebert was a powerful figure in the city, and it was just the thing that he might do. _Whatever I do, whatever I say, I'm going to have to be careful._

He felt a certain kinship to her; he was isolated by his scholastic success, while she was set apart by her disdain for anyone who wasn't her. Yes, she occasionally bullied and victimised her fellow students – particularly Emma Barnes and Madison Clements – but to him that was a symptom of a greater problem. That was learned behaviour, he believed; learned from a powerful, ruthless father. _And what can be learned, can be unlearned._ Once she saw that he actually had concern for her well-being, was willing to help her, perhaps he could connect with her. _I like her. I want her to see that she's likeable. Once she sees that, perhaps she will stop striking out at the world._

Of course, he had no illusions that it would be an overnight process. Her problems ran deep, but once she had accepted his friendship, he would do what he could to help her sort them out. _One step at a time._

* * *

Manually, he turned off his modem, then double-checked his computer for any sort of running software that might store information and retransmit it later. Finding nothing, he pulled up an encrypted file and typed in the key. Almost instantly, it opened up to where he had last finished working on it.

It was fairly large, over a hundred thousand words so far; he figured that it might be twice or three times that size before he was finished. It had evolved as he had written it; originally, it had been a mundane essay on the state of law and order in Brockton Bay, but some ideas in it had struck him as being interesting, and he had saved them before handing in the essay. Going back to the ideas, he had developed them, then written more on the subject, backing up the essay with his own observations. Currently it was titled _Right and Wrong, _but he suspected that it might change again before he was finished with it.

_'… instinctive reaction of the average person is to do good, to do right by the fellow man. It is only by association with others that one learns bad traits; to steal, to attack, to kill. Our laws, based around the instinct for good, tend to be lax, as most people understand the basis behind them on a visceral level. This fails us when we encounter an organisation of entrenched evil; we try to deal with it as per normal, and we fail. Unfortunately, those who reach positions of power seem to be quite adept at ignoring their inner good instinct … '_

He frowned, typing a few corrections here and there, tightening some phrasing. Absent rules, people tended to play fair. It was when rules and laws came into being that they started to work to get around them. And so, for every law, there were a thousand loopholes. This was the basis of the work; he had hopes that it would end up on the best-seller list someday.

A few paragraphs came to him, and he typed them up, then saved the work, re-encrypting it as he did so. Some of the information in there came from the SO boards, and he devoutly hoped that the authors of the words he had stolen would have long since forgotten their posts by the time his _magnum opus_ made print.

* * *

Leaning back in his chair, he let his mind drift. After a few moments, he found himself pondering the concept of a world where people were inherently greedy, where laws were required to keep the unscrupulous from fleecing the less aware. Would it be a paradise, he wondered, or would it be even harsher, as things like speed limits and drinking age became an actual definitive aspect, as opposed to a general guideline?

Would crime be more prevalent or less? With stricter laws, would criminals pay heed to them, or ignore them at the risk of harsher jail terms, doled out by an uncaring justice system? With the police and superheroes more organised than the criminals, would such a world be a paradise of justice, or would the legal system there be just as disorganised as the criminals here?

He tried to imagine a mirrored Taylor in such a world; a sweet, gentle and kindly girl, she would be much easier to make friends with. _But would I be the sort of person that she would make friends with?_

It was something to wonder about. _I'm socially adept, charismatic, intelligent … does this mean that a mirror-me would be the opposite?_ He shuddered. _I think I'd rather be me. But I'd still like to meet a mirror version of Taylor. She would probably be easier to get along with than the one we have at the moment._

* * *

Ensuring that his document was stored away again, he restarted the modem and logged on to the PHO site. There was no answer yet to his offer, but he had hopes. Insight was not known to be stupid, after all. _I just hope she gets back to me before Sellsword gets hold of her. _The Syndicate villain had a well-deserved reputation for long-held grudges, and violence in general.

Shutting down his computer, he turned out the light and got into bed. It took him a while to get comfortable_; r_olling over, he sought refuge in sleep. His last coherent thought was, _I wonder what a true mirror world would be like?_

* * *

In the middle of the night, he sat up, bolt upright, eyes wide. In his mind's eye, he could see a machine. Fumbling on his night-light, he scrabbled for a pencil and pad, and sketched furiously. Page after page was covered in drawings and notes, the pencil flying over the paper. He had no idea what it was that he was drawing, but he knew that it was somehow important.

Finally, he faltered. His eyelids grew heavy; he scribbled a last few notes, and dropped the pad on the bedside table. The light clicked off, leaving bright after-images swimming in his vision.

_I wonder what that thing is, anyway?_

He was asleep before he could think of an answer.

* * *

"Wake up, honey. "

Slowly, his eyes edged their way open as someone shook him. That 'someone' turned out to be his mother.

"'m awake."

"Good," she told him briskly. "Your father will be back shortly, and then we'll be going out. He'd like you to mow the lawn today, if it's not too much trouble."

"No, no trouble," he agreed. He really didn't mind mowing the lawn; it was mindless exercise that left his brain to its own devices. "I'll get it done after breakfast."

"Great!" she told him. The crunch of tyres on gravel, followed by the beep of a horn, heralded the return of his father. "We'll see you later."

"Where are you going?" he asked curiously.

"Movies," she returned briefly. "That new Earth Aleph one."

There were three 'new Earth Aleph' movies playing at the moment; he didn't bother asking which one. "Well, have fun."

She grinned. "Oh, we will." Leaning down, she kissed him on the cheek. "It's good that you're responsible enough to be left on your own."

With that, she was gone, trotting down the stairs as he levered himself out of bed. It was a short trip to the bathroom, where he got into the shower.

* * *

Gradually, the hot spray woke him up, unlocking his mental processes. He dried and dressed; as he was sitting on the bed, pulling his shoes on, his gaze fell upon the notepad, and the interlude during the night returned to him.

_What _**_was_**_ that device which I was drawing?_

Picking up the notepad, Greg began paging through it. The drawings looked strange, but he found that he could understand them. Wandering downstairs, he made himself some cereal and ate it, while still perusing the notebook.

After he rinsed the dish and spoon, he wandered out to the garage. His father considered himself a do-it-yourselfer, and the shelves were crammed with every type of junk available. Greg began to go through them, picking out bits and pieces. They didn't match the parts that he had visualised, not exactly, but somehow he knew that they would do.

* * *

After he had gotten all the parts together, he began to assemble them. Some didn't fit exactly, but he found that he could file them down, or in one case, chip a piece off the side, to make them slot into place. It took him a while, following the spidery notes that he had scribbled down, sometimes trailing off the edge of the page, but toward the end, he was pretty sure that he had gotten it right.

There were a couple of pieces that he wasn't quite sure how they fitted into the contraption, but with a bit of work, he got them connected up.

Adding a heavy battery and attaching it to the terminals was the work of a moment. And then he threw the switch.

Nothing seemed to be happening.

He eyed the thing; it wasn't humming, beeping or buzzing. He was pretty sure that it was a Tinker tech device of some sort. Which made him a Tinker. But he had no idea what the thing was supposed to do.

With a sigh, he threw it on to the work bench and pulled the lawnmower out. _If I mow the yard, maybe I'll have a better idea of what to do about it. _Grunting with the effort, he wheeled the mower outside; soon a roar of engine noise indicated that he'd gotten it started.

On the work bench, lights blinked on the device; the drop on to the bench had connected two vital components. It began to function.

Several miles and a whole universe away, Taylor Hebert stared in confusion as her bedroom mirror became a window to another world …

* * *

End of Part Ten


	15. Chapter 15

**Adventures in the MirrorVerse**

* * *

Part Eleven: Alice Through the Looking Glass, Part One

* * *

**Saturday, April 16, 2011  
Brockton Bay, Earth Bet**

* * *

I paused, mid brush-stroke. Mom had always encouraged me to take care of my hair; a little darker than hers, it was just as curly. In her memory, I tried to brush it out at least once a day; truth be told, if I let it go longer than that, it did its best to become an impenetrable tangle of knots. If nothing else today, I was going to do that; the concussion I had suffered yesterday at Bakuda's hands didn't leave me much else to do. Fortunately, the pills were keeping the headache to a dull murmur.

But it wasn't my hair or the concussion that was the problem right now. I was more concerned with the fact that my image had just vanished from the mirror in front of me. One moment there, the next … not.

Squinting through my glasses, I moved my head from side to side. No, it wasn't a trick of the light. There really was no _me_ in the mirror.

_Oh shit. What if I'm hallucinating?_ That could only mean bad things. A brain bleed, or worse. Pressure on the … what was it called, video centre? Visual something or other? Whatever it was, maybe I had brain damage that the CT scan had missed. And now I was seeing … well, not seeing _things_. Literally _not_ seeing something. That is, me.

I wondered momentarily if this was going to be permanent. A very specific hallucination causing me to block any image of myself out of my mind. _This is gonna make putting on makeup very difficult._ I paused. _Maybe it's my glasses?_

Reaching up, I pulled my glasses off. The mirror got a little blurry, but I didn't see a blurry me in there. _Okay, there goes that idea._ Putting them back on, I reached forward. _Final test. See if the mirror's still there._ Intellectually, I knew it was. It had to be. It was a part of my dresser, which was free-standing against the wall. I could see my room behind it, which would be impossible to fake, given that the dresser was against the outside wall of the house, and so the room would have to be projecting several yards out into empty air.

But concussion plus pain meds makes it easier to do things that you know are illogical. So I reached out to touch the mirror.

Only it wasn't there.

I paused, half-standing, my arm halfway up to the elbow _inside my damn mirror._ I waved my hand around, feeling no resistance. It was there. I could see it clearly. It was also sticking through a hole that shouldn't exist, into a mirror-imaged room that shouldn't exist.

I didn't freak out, mainly because my brain wasn't hitting on all cylinders. Slowly, I pulled my arm out of the impossible hole in the wall and moved around to look down the narrow gap behind the dresser and the mirror. If I squinted, I could see the back of the mirror and I could also see the wall. They both existed.

Without even asking myself _what the fuck am I doing?_ I reached around, feeling my hand go through the mirror once more as if it had simply ceased to be. Standing next to the dresser, I could see that the back of the mirror and the wall were undisturbed, despite the fact that I had my arm elbow-deep in the damn mirror.

Pulling my arm out again, I went to the window and leaned out. The sunlight stung my eyes a little, but I was able to ascertain that no, nobody had bolted an extra bedroom to the outside of the house overnight. There was a wall there, with no holes at all. Nothing that I could stick my arm through. Nothing that made any sense at all.

I went back and sat on the bed. _Okay. My mirror is now a window into a mirror-image of my room. That's kind of weird. But I'm pretty sure there's weirder shit out there._

With a thought, I called up a dozen bugs and sent them through the mirror. They passed through perfectly fine, so I spread them out to explore the mirror-house. While they were doing this, I lay back on the bed; I may have dozed for a few moments.

When I woke up, the mirror was still a window. The bugs were spread out through the mirror-house; I gathered from their sensory impressions that all the rooms in my house were the same in that house, only mirror-imaged. To go to the bathroom from my room, I'd have to turn left instead of right, that sort of thing. Outside the house was … well, outside. I guided a beetle to fly up to the mirror-house window and inside. Nothing flew in my window. But when I told it to go to the mirror, there it was.

And then I caught my breath. Because sitting on the sofa in the mirror-living room, reading what was probably a mirrored newspaper, was … Dad.

Not _my_ Dad, but a mirror version of him.

_Wow, holy fuck._

I reached out to the bugs in _my_ living room, and … there was Dad. My _real_ Dad. He was watching TV; I couldn't make out what was on. And at the same time, I was using my bugs to watch _another _Dad, in a different world, do something subtly different.

_This is so damn weird._

At this point, I should have stopped. Taken stock. At the very least, told Dad what was going on. Shown him the mirror. Maybe I should even have called in Lisa and Brian and shown _them_ the mirror. Shit, I should have called up the PRT and told _them_ about it. After all, the huge song and dance about the Earth Aleph portal that Professor Haywire had created had never really gone away. And that one was _tiny._ This one, I could literally _climb_ through.

I blame the meds and the concussion. Because there was literally no other excuse for the next thought that popped into my head.

_Hey, why don't I go through and find out what it's like on the other side?_

There were probably _hundreds_ of good reasons.

I couldn't think of a one.

* * *

Dad looked up when I got to the bottom of the stairs. "Taylor, are you all right?"

"Sure," I told him. "I was just going to get a snack, then have a shower and get some more sleep. Is that okay?" _Translation: I don't want to be disturbed for the next few hours._

"Of course it is," he assured me, jumping up from the couch. "You know, you could use the bed down here and watch TV."

I made a face. "The sofa bed is kind of lumpy. I'm happy in my own bed."

"Whatever's fine with you." He led the way into the kitchen. "What would you like for a snack?"

"Um, a sandwich?"

He pointed at a chair. "Sit down, I'll make it for you."

Guilt started to jab at me as I obeyed. He was so anxious to please, so willing to do whatever I needed. _Maybe I should tell him._

Opening my mouth, I almost did. The filter between my brain and my mouth was that thin. But then I found myself running through the conversation that would follow.

_Uh, Dad, I found a portal to another world in my bedroom mirror. I'm gonna explore it._

_Taylor, that's not a good idea. What if it's hostile?_

_Oh, I can defend myself, Dad. I've got bug powers._

_You've got what now?_

No matter how I tried to play it, the conversation went downhill fast after that. And if I didn't tell him about my powers, he'd stop me from going, even if it was _my_ world. I'd discovered it, after all. It was _my_ right to be the first to explore it.

And of course, if I told him about the powers, that opened another huge can of Endbringer-sized worms. He'd know about me being a supervillain and he'd probably figure out that Lisa and Brian were villains as well. I'd ruin everything for everyone.

So it was better to not say _anything_ to _anyone_. Yeah. That was much safer.

* * *

By the time I finished my shower – I hadn't been lying about _that_ part – my headache was starting to come back, along with the first stirrings of common sense. Not very _strong_ stirrings, given the fact that I was still concussed, but stirrings all the same. I squashed both headache and common sense ruthlessly with a painkiller pill, washed down with a glass of water that I'd brought upstairs with my sandwich.

Firmly closing my bedroom door, I changed into what I thought was sensible alternate-universe-exploring clothing. In the event, this was T-shirt, jeans and a hoodie. I stuffed a pepper spray tube into my pocket and made sure that the knife that I had used to de-toe Bakuda – carefully cleaned, _thank_ you very much – was secure in its sheath in the small of my back, under my hoodie. I wasn't being _totally_ clueless, after all. As an afterthought, I stuck my phone in my pocket as well. I didn't think I'd get coverage in the mirror-world, but if nothing else, I could get some photos.

After that, I had to decide how to climb into the alternate universe that I had discovered. Absently, I wondered if they'd call it Earth Taylor, or maybe Earth Rolyat, given that it seemed to be a mirror-world. Then I wondered why I was even wondering about that.

Climbing through was not the easiest thing in the world, even after I had cleared the stuff on my dresser to each side, and done the same with the stuff on mirror-Taylor's dresser as well. It felt really weird, reaching into a whole different world to move stuff around, but if I was going to be climbing through, I didn't want to break any of her stuff. Who knew, we might end up being besties. After all, who better to be my friend than someone who already knew me as well as I did?

The dresser didn't like it when I climbed up on to it; it rocked rather alarmingly and I thought it was going to fall. So I climbed off again.

But the rocking gave me an idea. The mirror was on a swivel; a little experimentation showed me that although the mirror-portal was fixed to mirror-Taylor's dresser mirror, I could move mine without affecting hers. So I lifted it off the swivel and put it face-up on the floor. Then, before I could talk myself out of it, I got down on to the floor and lowered myself through.

It felt really weird going through; as soon as any part of me passed over the threshold, it was dragged to one side – the 'down' side – and I ended up clambering down off of her dresser. Looking back through the mirror, I had a good view of my bedroom ceiling, and where the pain was peeling. Then I wondered why I was looking back at my _own_ bedroom, when I had a whole new world to explore, right here and now.

I looked around at mirror-Taylor's bedroom; unmade bed, clothes on the floor, smell of cigarette smoke … ew. The other me _smoked?_ Ew. I wasn't so sure if I was going to like her. I moved sideways, and my foot hit something that clinked. Glancing down, I saw what was obviously an alcohol bottle. It had hit another one. _Oh great, mirror-me drinks too._

Fighting down a profound sense of disappointment – I had crossed into another universe to find out that this world's version of me had two habits that I had nothing but distaste for – I looked at the posters on the walls. At least she had _those._ But in place of the Protectorate poster that held pride of place opposite my bed – it was an older one, missing Triumph – there was one that I thought at first was lettered in Russian. The backwards N was what confused me. Then I saw a backwards G, and frowned. I didn't think the Russians had that in their alphabet.

And then, of course, I realised what was going on. _I'm in a mirror-universe, duh. The writing's all going to be mirror-imaged._ I concentrated on the lettering, reading it from right to left, mentally reversing them. N … O … N … A … G … O … N. _Nonagon. Huh. A nine-sided figure. Cute name._ Then I looked at the people actually portrayed in the poster and recoiled so hard that I sat down on the bed.

I _knew_ those people. Everyone in America who hadn't been living under a rock for the last twenty _years_ knew them. But there was no way in hell that they should be on a poster.

Standing up again, I stepped forward, peering at the poster. _Wait a minute …_

The Siberian was easily recognisable, despite the fact that she wore a one-piece costume. Beside her, Jack Slash was posing proudly, holding a knife aloft. Flanking them … that was Mannequin, although his armour was designed a little oddly. And that there was Bonesaw, minus the blood-caked apron. Crawler was missing, though Shatterbird was there. Some capes I didn't know were filling in the gaps, but it was definitely them. Definitely the Slaughterhouse Nine.

_Here they're called … Nonagon? And people are putting __**posters**__ out about them? Okay, that's really kind of weird._

I wasn't sure if I wanted to stay in this bedroom for much longer. A lot of the excitement of being in a whole new universe was starting to drain away. All the writing was reversed and I was having to concentrate to read any of it. Plus, the smell of stale cigarette smoke and, I was pretty sure, alcohol wasn't doing my headache any favours. I took a few photographs anyway, just because I could, then tucked the phone away again.

Carefully pulling the bedroom door open, I peered out into the corridor. My bugs still had mirror-Dad down in the living room, reading the paper. I wasn't really sure that I wanted to meet him, even if he thought I was his real daughter. _Maybe I can sneak out past him. Duck down the front hall into the kitchen and out the back door._

_Or maybe I should just brazen it out. Walk down the stairs like I belong here._

Before I could talk myself out of it, I had decided to try the second idea. My footsteps thudded on the steps as I trotted downstairs. At the bottom of the steps, all I had to do was turn right, _not_ left, so that I would be heading along the front hall, toward the back door.

At the bottom of the steps, habit took over and I turned left. Into the living room. Right in front of mirror-Dad.

_Crap._

If I stopped, then he'd notice me more. I kept going.

"Taylor." His voice was more grating than my Dad's. More raspy.

"Yeah?" I made my voice as non-committal as I could and kept on going.

"Thought you went out."

"Came back," I replied in a _well, duh_ sort of voice, not looking around. "Got changed."

I was almost to the doorway into the kitchen. Behind me, he put the paper down; my bugs picked it up and I also heard the rustle. "Come here a moment."

Reluctantly, I stopped and turned. _Mirror-Taylor smokes and drinks. She's rebellious._ "Can it wait? Got places to be."

Rolling up the paper and tapping it on his knee, he pointed at the spot on the floor in front of him. When he spoke, I heard a tone that Dad had never used in front of me. "Here. Now."

I walked over and stood in front of him; he looked up at me. "You look kinda different. You feeling okay? You were pretty loopy after Shebang's laughter grenade got you yesterday."

_Shebang? __**Laughter**__ grenade? What the hell?_

"I, uh, yeah, I'm fine," I told him. I knew what he was seeing; faces are not totally symmetrical, and to swap the features from side to side often produces strange effects. To him, it seemed as though I was unwell.

"Okay then," he grunted, then picked up the remote and turned on the TV, attention dropping away from me as though I had never walked into the room.

Greatly daring, I picked up the discarded paper and strolled into the kitchen. The door handle turned easily and I stepped out of the house.

* * *

I wasn't quite sure where to go after I left the house. I needed to get out of there, in case mirror-Dad noticed anything else weird about me, such as being left-handed (to him) or not knowing something simple. But I didn't know where to _go;_ at first, I thought it would be cool to go meet up with this world's version of the Undersiders. If mirror-me was there, we could hang out. Though if she started smoking and drinking in front of me, I didn't know how I was going to react.

Eventually, I headed for the Boardwalk. I made quite a few wrong turns, because I still wasn't totally used to being in the mirror-world. Left was right and right was left, duh. That meant that if north and south were the same as always, then east and west had been swapped, so I had to go _that_ way instead of _this_ way to get to the Boardwalk, instead of toward Captain's Hill.

In the end, I followed the street signs, though I thought that people might think I was slow, spending a few moments puzzling out what they meant instead of reading them at a glance. But I got there eventually and flopped down on to a bench seat.

I needed to think about what mirror-Dad had said. He'd mentioned someone called 'Shebang' and a laughter grenade. I recalled encountering Bakuda and her pain bomb. Could they be one and the same, on two different worlds? A laughter grenade didn't seem nearly as nasty as a pain bomb, but I supposed that if you laughed hard enough it would incapacitate you.

But … a laughter grenade sounded almost … _friendly._ It was something that a _hero_ would use, unless it made you laugh so hard you hurt yourself. Though mirror-Dad hadn't seemed to be overly concerned. Then again, he hadn't seemed to be overly interested in connecting to me at all. Did he even _care_ about mirror-me?

* * *

With a mental effort, I put that aside for the moment and addressed another problem. I hadn't really noticed it up until now, given all the other things on my mind, but I couldn't feel any bugs around me. The dozen or so bugs I'd sent into the house before exploring myself had been left back there; between the house and the Boardwalk, I hadn't once felt the distinctive signal of a bug 'reporting in'.

This was kind of frightening and disorienting, like waking up one day and finding out that one of your arms was missing. It was perhaps more so than when I'd gotten my powers. After all, I was _used_ to them now. Being able to control bugs was all kinds of amazing.

If I didn't have the power to control bugs here, exploring this world would be a whole lot less fun, and a lot more unsafe, than I had imagined. _On the other hand,_ I told myself hopefully, _maybe it's just a factor of being mirror-imaged. Maybe they're just on another frequency, or whatever it is. Maybe I can tap into it._

And maybe I couldn't. I had to face the fact that I was quite possibly without powers in this world. My sudden impulse to go exploring without backup and without telling anyone where I had gone was starting to look less and less sensible by the minute. A buzzing grew in my ears.

"Hey, are you all right?"

I looked up, startled. A man stood opposite me, peering at me carefully, with a woman at his side. They weren't anyone I knew, or thought I knew; just a couple, in their mid twenties or so. Panic closed my throat; could they tell that I was from another world?

"I wouldn't have asked but you look like you're in pain or something." His voice betrayed nothing but concern.

I realised that I'd been sitting hunched over, my hands clenched into fists at the sides of my head. I straightened up, relaxed my hands. "No, no, I'm good. I was just … thinking about something."

"Oh, that's good then." He smiled uncertainly. "Don't think too hard. You might hurt yourself." A chuckle told me that this was supposed to be a joke.

"Yeah." With an effort, I returned the chuckle. "Thanks."

They moved off then; a few yards on, the woman glanced back at me. I gave her a smile and a brief wave; reassured, she went on with the man. Leaning back against the bench, I found myself relaxing, a genuine smile starting to creep across my features. _Well, at least random strangers here can be nice._

The buzzing was back. To distract myself from it, I opened the paper and tried to read it. It was, of course, printed in reverse, so after a few moments I turned to the front page, all the way to the right. Concentrating as well as I could, I began to read the headlines and then work my way through the articles. People came strolling past, but if they found anything weird about a teenager reading the paper at the Boardwalk, nobody said anything.

DRUG STASH DESTROYED BY TEEN HEROES, said one article header. _Huh, so this world has the Wards as well. Cool._ MAYOR'S NIECE MISSING, stated another. That one got my attention, so I started to puzzle my way through the article.

I found it easier and easier as I went along, despite the buzzing in my ears; toward the end, I was reading almost as fast as I could normally. But I had to go back and re-read it, because it came across as _weird._

Apparently, this version of Brockton Bay also had a man called Roy Christner as Mayor. That much I could understand. Whether our Mayor Christner also had a niece called Dinah Alcott, I couldn't be sure. From the article, she had gone missing on the fourteenth; that was the day that I had robbed the Brockton Bay Central Bank with the Undersiders.

But what I couldn't get over was the _tone_ of the article. Christner was quoted as being 'very angry' and 'offering a large reward' to retrieve his wayward niece. However, the reporter who wrote the article seemed to be not very worried about the twelve year old's well-being. _It seems more likely that she's gone to stay at a friend's house,_ the article read. _After all, who would abduct a child? Really?_

I had to stop and think about that. Now that I was reminded, there had been an Amber Alert in the paper, pushing our bank job off the front page. In this world, there seemed to be about the same level of interest as in a lost dog.

_Are people so callous here?_ I wondered. _Do they care so little?_ After all, my experience with mirror-Dad hadn't given me a high level of confidence regarding his home life with mirror-me.

The buzzing ramped up in intensity, making my head begin to throb. I gasped, clenching my eyes shut as I clasped my hands over my temples. I forgot all the other problems I had as I tried to ride out the pain.

"Hey, are you all right? Is she all right?"

"I don't know. She looks like she's in pain."

"Hey, kid. You all right there?"

"Do you need a doctor?"

The babble of voices surrounded me, startling me with its suddenness. I unclenched my eyes and looked around at the circle of faces that had appeared out of seemingly nowhere. Men and women, young and old. One little girl solemnly offered her ice-cream. An older man held out a bottle of water.

Abruptly, as if turned off by a switch, the headache was gone, as was the buzzing in my ears. I struggled to sit upright once more. Carefully, I waved away the ice-cream, but I accepted the bottle. Slowly, I sipped, letting the water trickle down my throat.

"Thanks, I'm fine now," I told them. "Honestly, I'm all right. Thank you."

The man who had offered water frowned slightly. "You looked as though you were really in pain there, kid. Do you want me to drive you to a doctor? I know a good one."

Capping the bottle and handing it back, I shook my head. As sincere as he sounded, I didn't really think that I wanted to get into a car alone with a strange man. "No, I'll be fine, thanks. I'm feeling much better now." I looked around at the crowd. "Really, I'll be all right. Thanks."

Nodding to me, they began to move off. I paused, looking at my would-be benefactor. "Though … well, I hate to ask …"

"Yeah?" It was downright weird, the way he seemed to perk up at the chance to help me.

"Um, I don't have bus fare to get home, and …"

"Say no more," he declared, pulling his wallet out and withdrawing a banknote from it. "This should get you home, as well as a sandwich or something if you get hungry on the way." Looking at it, I finally realised that it was a twenty.

"I, uh, thanks, but -" I began to protest at the denomination of the note, but then I saw others around him, pulling their _own_ wallets out. One by one, each of them produced banknotes and handed them to him; belatedly, I realised that this world must still have one and two dollar notes in quantity. By the time they finished, he must have been reimbursed half again as much for what he'd given me. " … uh, never mind. Thanks a lot. I mean it."

He nodded firmly to me as he tucked the ones and twos away. "Think nothing of it. Have a nice day, kid."

"You too," I responded. Turning away, I headed off down the Boardwalk, looking for a bus stop. _Okay, that was weird. He was generous to me; they were generous to him. Nobody was out any large amount. But it was all … natural. Weird, weird world._

I had travelled a hundred yards before something else occurred to me; I could feel bugs in my vicinity. Slowly, yard by yard, my awareness of the local bug life was pushing its way outward once more. My power was back. _That's what the buzzing must have been. My power finding the new frequency._

_I wonder if I have to go through that again when I go back home. That'll be no fun at all._

Finally, I found a bus stop. Carefully, I began to read the schedule times. I needed to find the bus to the north ferry dock; if the local version of the Undersiders made their base in the same place as in my world, I could walk there in twenty minutes.

_Boy, are they gonna be surprised to see __**me.**_

* * *

End of Part Eleven


End file.
